Chains of Fate Revised
by AquilaTempestas
Summary: AU. Lyra's life is turned upside down when bandits invade her town of New Bark. She's taken in as a slave, but is quickly sold to a noble family. It isn't long before Lyra finds herself in the service of the young and obedient Prince Lance. Will love blossom?
1. Prologue

_AU. Lyra's life is turned upside down when bandits invade her town of New Bark. She's taken in as a slave, but is quickly sold to a noble family. It isn't long before Lyra finds herself in the service of the young and obedient Prince Lance. Will love blossom?_

This is a revised edition, and the story is now complete. The story will change name at a later name (as soon as the art cover is done actually).

I have fixed up a few issues with the original draft so hopefully this edition will make a lot more sense.

There aren't many true high fantasy stories in the Pokemon fandom, so that's something I wanted to address with this.

**.**

**Prologue**

"Are you certain about this mother?" a young woman said, her arms wrapped around her body, trying to keep herself warm from the piercing cold. All she had to keep herself warm was a sheepskin cloak, a woolen hat and a pair of mittens, but the cold still stung. Although she was protected from the worst of the cold by standing in the cave, the gale still reached her and her companion. "How do you know this will work?"

"Watch and learn, Agatha," her mother said, her long black curls hidden beneath the hat. They were standing before a brown bear's carcass. Her mother pulled out a long knife and dropped to her knees. She made a deep incision from the heart to the stomach, pulling back the skin to reveal the insides. Placing the tip of the knife on the heart, she cut into the muscle and pulled it out. "Arceus has granted us Sight. It would be foolish of us not to use it to the best of our abilities. This is how we ensure the future of our world is a bright one."

Agatha placed a hand over her nose, trying hard not to gag at the stench and sight of blood. Although she had seen her mother perform the ritual many times before, she had never grown accustomed to it. Her stomach muscles tightened, and she made a silent prayer to Arceus her mother would not notice her discomfort. Ritual sacrifice had never been something she liked to watch.

"To gain full Sight, we must make an offering to The Divine." Arceus went by many names. The Church of Blackthorn had given the title of The Divine, whilst the peasants of nearby villages saw him as The Horned God based on the depictions of him in paintings. "We must bleed the heart into a silver chalice. Place the chalice on the ground before me."

Agatha removed the satchel from her back and opened it, digging inside for the item. As ordered, she placed it before her mother then took a step back.

Her mother cut into the heart directly down the middle and held it above the chalice. She didn't remove it until the chalice had been filled. This was the way to commune with The Divine. Or so her mother had claimed.

"What happens next?"

"I will drink the bear's blood." She brought the chalice to her mouth and drank a mouthful. Agatha winced. Her mother drank the liquid as if it were water. Once down, she laid the chalice down and gazed up towards the sky, her palms raised above her head, eyes squeezed shut. "I offer thee this carcass in exchange for your wisdom. Please. Tell me what I must do to serve you."

Nothing happened. Not straight away. Moments later, a white light encased the bear carcass. It disappeared right before her eyes. Startled, she jumped. "It's gone," Agatha exclaimed.

Her mother did not respond. Instead, she started to convulse, her eyes rolling back to show the white part fully. Agatha rushed to her side but was flung back off her feet by a mysterious force. All she could do was look on in terror. _Just relax,_ she told herself. _She's done this before. _Much to her surprise, her mother grabbed her are, her fingernails digging into her skin. Agatha yelped, and tried to free herself, but her mother's grip was unrelenting. Her mind became flooded with images.

She saw an elderly man wearing a crown of thorns. A woman with long red hair wearing a veil. There was also an image of a crippled hand, and evidence of fire. Behind him, an army of humanoids, their facial features concealed by a hood. A new image appeared. A baby boy born under a full moon. Lastly, she saw a glimpse of a woman standing atop a hill, bathed in sunlight.

Her mother released her grip, and Rebekah stumbled back, but recovered. Regaining control, her mother raised to her feet. "What did you see?" she demanded.

"Um. A baby boy next to a crown. A king with a crown of thorns. A woman who radiates warmth much like the sun. A crippled hand which looked like it had been scarred from fire… or something else. And there were also some robed people, but I couldn't see their faces…." Agatha explained, regaining her composure. She drew in a deep breath, trying to steady her hammering heart, then said, "What did it all mean?"

"It's a prophetic vision. Arceus can't communicate in our language so He sends us images of a future to come. We have to piece the puzzle together ourselves and do our best to serve Arceus." Her mother paused and frowned. "A crown of thorns represents a king who has sacrificed much. His leadership is born from pain and suffering. Hidden faces imply deceit. Why would you reveal your face if you had something to hide?"

"What about the crippled hand?"

"Means a disability or an illness. Perhaps it is connected to the robed people and the woman with the veil. Embarrassed because they are disfigured. The baby boy is the future king. That is why he is next to the crown and he will be born on a full moon. This implies struggle between reason and what the heart desires. Those born under a full moon are cooperative and good leaders because they listen," her mother explained, looking thoughtful.

"And what about the connection to the sun? Is this woman a mage?"

The woman shook her head. "She's favoured by Arceus. Wherever she goes, darkness will be vanquished. She brings light to dark places. These images come together and tell a story. A worthy king will be born under a full moon, and he'll have to choose between duty and the heart. The forces of darkness threaten to disrupt the peace. They lurk in the shadows hiding their features and their intentions, waiting for the right moment. The crippled hand is plague and disease. Fire is rebirth. But there is always hope. The prophecy of the Sun and the Moon. Arceus wants us to protect them both – the cycle has begun once more."

Her mother's voice trembled. The younger woman's eyes widened. Never had she seen her mother so shaken before. "What do you mean the cycle has begun once more?"

"The world will always be filled with darkness and light – chaos and order – evil and good. We strive for a balance. One side must not overpower the other or the balance will be lost. Centuries ago this same prophecy was fulfilled. A hero emerged from nothing and restored the balance."

Agatha frowned. "But the prophecy does not state who will emerge victorious?"

Silence then, "No, it does not but they guide us in the right direction. We could spend the next century leaving in darkness, or we could live in another era of prosperity and good health. We are Oracles, women who have the power to communicate with Arceus, and we have the power of seeing glimpses of the future. We are tested by our Creator, and we must show Him our faith and will is strong. We take the knowledge He gives us to make a better future for ourselves."

"Then what can we do?"

"I will not live to see the boy and the girl mature, but you will be there." Her mother grabbed her hands, her dark eyes gazing deep into her eyes. "This task falls on you. This prophecy must come to light. It is our duty as oracles."

"What must I do?"

"Protect them. Do as they ask. They are the ones who will vanquish the shadow." She wiped her hands on her dress, removing the blood from her skin.

Agatha didn't understand this prophecy – not entirely. This wouldn't be the first time someone had prophesized the end of the world. Not whilst her mother still breathed. This wasn't a task she could do alone. "I understand, mother."

"You are an obedient child. Come. We must retreat further into the cave and wait out the rest of the storm before we can depart for the city once more."

Agatha nodded, shifting her attention away from the carcass. She was eager to distance herself from the dead. Staring into the bear's soulless eyes was unsettling. Without saying anther word, she followed her mother further into the cave.


	2. Damned and Divine

Thanks to mirrorkinomoto and PKMNfanSakura for reviewing the previous chapter.

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**Chapter One: The Damned and the Divine**

An oppressive hot wind blew in from the southern borders, carrying with it the putrefying stench of the dead. Outside the village wooden gates, there was a force of twenty bandits thirsting for blood. They were led by the strong hand of the bandit leader Archer, a wicked man whose only ambition was to make good coin from selling slaves in the city of Blackthorn.

Lyra cowered under the table her body pressed up against the trembling figure of her mother. Leanna over and placed a kiss on her daughter's head, whispering words of comfort. But the comfort was just false hope, Lyra knew. Nothing would save them. Nothing _could _save them. Arceus, the Divine Creator, had abandoned them to a grisly and bloody fate. How could such a benevolent and merciful god allow such hatred and cruelty to flourish in the hearts of men?

"Ssshh… don't cry… it will all be over soon…" Leanna said, voice trembling as she spoke.

Tears slid down Lyra's pallid cheeks, landing on the dirt-stained floor. If running was an option, they would take it, but their village was built beside the ocean. Trees grew on the northern and southern sides of the village blocking potential escape. One could have to risk navigating their way through the forest if they wanted freedom, but dangerous animals prowled at night and feasted on daring adventurers that dared to brave the woods. The only escape route was through the west and that path led directly into the bandit camp. Death was their escape.

She had always known this day would come. The village elder, Elm, had predicted it would end this way. But she had not expected it to come so soon. She had recently turned twenty-one and had hoped to live long enough to raise a family of her own. "Mama," Lyra whispered, grasping onto her mother's thin, ragged cloth. "Don't be afraid. We will meet father soon in the Distortion World." The Distortion World. The place where the dead lingered.

Her father, along with a group of other villages, had left the bandits away from the village. He had bought them precious time, but it hadn't mattered. The bandits had returned, but none of their own men come home. Her mother kissed her forehead again, sobbing. Lyra held her mother close, trying to keep her sobs as quiet as possible as if it would keep them safe.

"There's a couple of live ones in here!" a voice yelled from behind the door.

Leanna wiped her tears and climbed out from beneath the table. She glanced down at her daughter through teary eyes and spoke. "Stay back!" She grabbed the nearest object – a thick stick – and pointed it forward at the door. "Stay under the table, Lyra!"

The door burst open. Two men dressed in chainmail from head to toe, stepped inside the small building. Both their faces were concealed by the twisted horned helms on their heads. Broadswords hung at their sides the steel covered in fresh blood. The first man didn't hesitate – he grabbed her mother's arm and plunged the sword squarely between the ribs. Lyra brought a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming, but it was too late. The other man had already spotted her.

"What do we have here?" The man on the right searched the room. A grin spread across his face. "A young fair maiden. The commander's favourite type. I'm sure she'll fetch us some good coin. I could do with a decent meal. What do you say, Proton? You think the commander will approve?"

Proton, the taller man, looked in Lyra's direction. His expression was neutral. He walked over her mother's body and kneeled before her, extending an arm. Lyra backed away. He lunged forward and grabbed her leg and dragged her out. She screamed and tried to wrestle herself free, clawing at the ground desperately, tears stinging her eyes, but she was overpowered. He grabbed her roughly by her hair. "She's a wild one, Petrel. Look at her eyes."

Lyra darted a frightened glance at her mother's fallen body. She was still alive, but just. The woman tried to pick up her weapon, but Petrel kicked it away and wagged his finger in her face. Her hands moved to her stomach, as if that would somehow make the blood stop. Tears rolled down Lyra's eyes.

"She's a scrawny little thing. Looks like she hasn't had a proper meal in weeks. She won't last the trip," Petrel said, closing the distance between them. He kneeled in front of her and brought his face close. "Hasn't been sleeping well either. Look at the black bags beneath the eyes. Probably diseased."

Lyra spat in his face. The man swore and aimed a punch at her right cheek. She toppled backwards, her head smacking against the floor. "Fucking bitch!"

Proton laughed. "I think you might be wrong about her. She's a feisty one. All she needs is a good rest, some fine food, and she'll be back to normal. You could even have her for yourself once she's back in prime condition. Wouldn't you like that? Your own pet?" he taunted.

Petrel scowled. "The commander will make her learn obedience soon enough." He climbed to his feet then glanced in the direction of her mother once more. Leanna was still breathing though her breaths were becoming ragged. "As for you. You're not needed. There's no room for an old woman."

Lyra wanted to take her hand, to touch her mother one last time, but the soldiers had other plans. Petrel plunged his blade through the back of her neck. Lyra covered her eyes, tears streaming down her swollen cheeks. Proton grabbed her arms and dragged her frail body across the bloody floor, pulling her towards the entrance. Once outside, he picked her up. She tried to fight back, but she was too weak from a lack of good food and almost sleepless nights. Soon, she found herself outside in the scorching heat.

"Tie a cloth around her mouth so we don't have to listen to her scream."

Before Lyra could object, a dirty piece of cloth was tied around her jaw covering her mouth.

"Come on, let's head back to the main group. Archer will want to know what we have to offer." Petrel picked her up.

Lyra wept.

.

Night had fallen. The night terrified her. The night was full of horrors. Creatures that could see you, but you could not see them. No one dared to leave their homes without the sun. But here she was stuck in a cage on the back of a trade cart, sitting under the light of a full moon. Trapped like an animal.

The bandits had made camp in a forest clearing to the north of the village. There were ten bandits in total and all were male. The stench of cheap ale filled the air as the men sat on logs around a campfire, one hand on their swords as if they anticipated an attack with a drink in the other. The slaves – of which she counted twelve including herself – were all in small cages on the back of carts.

Lyra sat in the corner of a wooden cage, her knees brought to her chest, arms wrapped around them. The cage stunk of pig. There was even blood on the hay-strewn floor. Probably a stolen trade cart used for transporting pig. But was it even pig's blood? There was no way to tell. She buried her head in her arms to hide the tears, but she didn't close her eyes. When she did, images of her mother's death formed in her mind.

"What's your name?"

She jerked her head up, her thoughts interrupted. "Lyra."

Proton had thrown her into a cage with a boy and another girl. Both appeared around her age – perhaps a year or two older. Certainly not children. The boy had thick, black brows and hair as dark as the night sky whilst the girl had an odd bend in her nose and dark brown eyes. Her straight brown bangs fell around her shoulders. Both had round faces, and pale white skin. There was also a smudge of dirt on the boy's face.

"You can call me Ash," the boy said, his voice hoarse. "Though some folks call me Red. They say me face turns a bright shade of red when I'm getting all flustered."

"I'm May," the girl said. "Lyra. That's a pretty name," she added in a drawling tone.

Another foreign accent or someone who came from a lowly background. Sometimes, wealthy people from Blackthorn visited the village to collect taxes. Their accents were more pronounced – probably to do with better education, Lyra concluded. Villagers and townsfolk spoke plainly.

The trade cart jerked forward. They were on the move again. The commander Archer rode ahead leading his men along the path whilst several bandits flanked all sides of the three trade carts. Archer was easily identified by the horned helm on his head and the leather cloak draped over his shoulders. Each bandit carried a torch in their left hand and a sword in the other. The other carts were also occupied with three slaves each.

Silence, then, "They found me in Pallet Town. Bandits came through. Burned the town to the ground," Ash murmured. "I've been 'ere for a week."

"I was supposed to board a ship back to Hoenn at Olivine City," May explained, pushing a strand of hair behind her right ear. "But we never made it. The bandits came. My parents… They died trying to save me," her tone quivered. May drew in a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "I saw them die and I couldn't do anything to stop it from happening." A sob escaped her throat.

Leanna's death replayed in Lyra's mind, a tight feeling developing in her chest, almost suffocating. She rubbed her eyes to wipe away the beginnings of tears. They were both looking at her expectantly, waiting for her story, but Lyra kept her mouth shut.

What was the point? It wasn't as if she was going to see these people again. They probably wouldn't even survive the night. There were all sorts of dangers outside the village, and a full moon usually meant the wild creatures were more violent than usual. With any luck they would be attacked, and they'd all perish. Death would be better than a life of slavery in the region's capital.

"…Not much of a talker, are you?" Ash said. "I 'spose it don't matter. We're going to Blackthorn, and we won't ever see each other again. The city is so big."

Blackthorn City, the so-called Jewel of the North. It was situated at the base of the Blackthorn Alps, a mountain range that covered the northern part of the region. Because of their location, the city folk rarely saw the sun. Rumour was winter lasted eight months in the far north. The city was under the leadership of Edward Blackthorn who had claimed the throne after his father fell in battle. Or so the tales had said. The man had two grandchildren, Lance and Clair Blackthorn. The parents had presumably perished to disease.

"At least there ain't any mages around," Ash mused.

"Mages have their uses," May argued.

"I don't know how they do things in Hoenn, but mages ain't accepted around these parts. The moment they find out you have magic? They'll chop your head off."

"Who is they?" Lyra said, curious.

"The Dragonite Order of Knights," Ash said. "Elite soldiers. I've seen them myself."

"And they hunt mages?"

Ash nodded. "Anyone who poses a threat to their kingdom. Henry Blackthorn trusted a mage then was stabbed in the back by one. He died, and Edward claimed the throne and declared war on all mages," he explained with a shrug of his shoulders. "That's how the tales go."

Lyra turned away gazing out through the cage bars, her arms still wrapped around her knees. Mage business wasn't her concern. She wasn't a mage.

Ash leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "When you have that much power at your fingertips, you're eventually goin' to lose your mind. My mother always told me that men who seek the crown meet an early death."

Lyra didn't agree, but what was the point in starting an argument over it? She nodded, and May followed. The girl seemed indecisive. Probably just trying to be friendly. Either that, or she was just daft. As if he knew the conversation was over, Ash fell silent, leaning back against the wooden bars, his arms resting on his lap. May peered through the bars and stared at the moon. Lyra ignored them both and closed her eyes.

Approaching footsteps prompted her to open her eyes. Proton walked towards them a torch in his right hand and silver keys in the other. "The commander says we need to make sure you are all in good health. We won't make any gold otherwise. You, boy, have some water. You look parched." He inserted the keys into the lock then pulled open the door.

If she had been brave, Lyra would've tried to escape, but her body refused to move. It was as if someone had shackled heavy weights to her legs to prevent her from moving. Once again, she was powerless and could only watch as Ash was pulled out of the cage.

Ash was marched over towards the campfire where the other bandits gathered around. Some were now standing whilst the others remained seated. Amused grins spread across their faces. Silence was never a promising sign.

"Take this water. Drink up. Plenty to go around," Proton ordered, handing Ash a small brown satchel.

Ash grabbed it eagerly and brought the rim to his mouth. He tilted his head back and drank greedily as if his life depended on it. A few moments later, he threw the satchel onto the ground and lurched over, a hand on his stomach. Liquid spilled from his mouth. His reaction prompted the bandits to burst out in raucous laughter.

"Never seen a man so eager to drink horse piss," Petrel laughed.

More laughter from the bandits. The only man who did not share their amusement was Archer. He marched up to Ash, grabbed the boy's arm and lifted him to his feet. "Enough! If you make this boy sick, then we can't sell him. You'll have your entertainment when we earn our coin. Keep your hands off the slaves or I might decide to sell you instead," he snapped. "Put the fire out. We don't want to draw unnecessary attention. Lock this boy up again and sleep. We have a long ride ahead of us."

The laughter died. "Of course, commander." Ash was dragged back to the cage and thrown inside. The door slammed shut, and Proton locked the gate. "Keep your mouth quiet. I don't want to hear chatter from you." He spat at Ash then walked away.

Lyra shifted her attention to Ash. The boy had his head buried in his knees, his body trembling. A contrast to his earlier behaviour. Soft sobs escaped his throat. Lyra brought her hands to her ears to drown out the sound. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to force recent events from her mind. Maybe this was all just some cruel dream. Perhaps she'd wake up and find herself back in her home. Why would Arceus punish her?

Somehow, she managed to sleep.

.

Her sleep was short-lived. Panicked cries from the bandits made her open her eyes. They had stopped at an oak tree. Stifling a yawn, Lyra pressed her head against the bars to get a better look. The leader, Archer, was standing beneath the tree and gazing upwards. Petrel and Proton flanked his sides, their torches raised. Other bandits remained on their horses.

Lyra followed Archer's gaze. There. Three corpses hanging from a tree, a thick rope tied around their necks. Two young girls and a woman. Oddly, Lyra noted there was a strange marking on their foreheads drawn with blood. A five-pointed star. "Now what kind of sick bastard did something like this?" she heard Archer murmur.

"Can't be pirates. They wouldn't come this far south," Proton said.

"And it's not one of our own men. We don't hang people and we don't draw funny symbols," Petrel pointed out, pointing at the bodies. "You think it's the work of the mages? Not all of them perished during the war."

Archer took off his helm, so he could see better revealing his short light-blue hair. "I've never seen anything like that before. Must've taken some effort to string them up there."

"What should we do, commander? Do we leave them there?" Petrel said.

"Leave them up there. It's no concern of ours," Archer answered, turning his back. He put his helm back on and returned to his brown stallion. "Mages haven't been seen since the war. If any of them survived, they would've been picked off by the wolves…. Or roaming soldiers. It's rare, but Blackthorn soldiers do ride this far."

"Wolves?" Lyra whispered.

"Werewolves," Ash supplied, his voice unsteady. "Men that turn into rabid beasts on a full moon. Legend says a woman fell in love with a man, but he broke her heart. She placed a spell on his tribe, making them slaves to the full moon."

"The only person who has ever defeated a werewolf is Lance Blackthorn," May said. "It's why he became the knight-commander at an early age. He was sixteen. Now he's twenty-five." She stuck her face between the cage bars, trying to get a glimpse of the corpses. A soft gasp escaped her throat, as her hands moved to her mouth. "Oh my Arceus… Those poor people. You think the werewolves did that?" May didn't receive an answer.

"What was that?" Proton said, holding his torch towards the bushes ahead.

Archer frowned. "I didn't hear anything. We should keep moving. I'd like to reach Blackthorn by dawn and receive our gold for the week then it's off to the southern lands once more."

Lyra head a faint rustling of leaves from the forest. She squinted. Movement behind the bushes. A rabbit?

Archer also seemed to notice. He urged his horse forward. Petrel approached the forest boundary, his torch raised high and his sword ready. "What do you see?"

A small brown hare emerged. Its long ears were erect and constantly moving, as if expecting danger. "It's a hare, Archer."

Archer sighed and turned his horse back around. He ordered the men to keep moving as both Proton and Petrel returned to the trade cart. They climbed on board and grabbed the reins of the horses. They only managed to cover a short distance when a scream, followed by a deep growl tore through the still quite air. A horse screamed. Lyra jumped, startled. She glanced over her left shoulder. There. A large grey wolf. Two more grey wolves joined it.

"Wolves! To arms, to arms! Protect the trade carts! The rest of you! Keep moving! We must reach the city!"

Some of the bandits turned around and charged at the wolves whilst the other trade carts continued to move ahead led by Archer. Even though the wolves weren't close to the cart, Lyra scrambled back and positioned herself between Ash and May to further distance herself. Two more wolves joined the fray. One wolf leaped at a bandit, knocking the man off his horse. The other wolf jumped on the horse and tore into its neck.

Lyra covered her eyes and placed her hands over her ears, trying to drown out the screams. Someone was crying. Probably May. The screams became louder still, and combined with the howls of the wolves, it was impossible to block out all the sounds. A nightmare. A living nightmare. One she couldn't escape from.

"Ignore them! Move! Move!" Archer called out.

The cart jerked forward. Lyra screamed and opened her eyes as she tumbled forward, her head smacking the bars. She winced, and rubbed her head, checking for blood. Nothing. A wolf slammed into the bars and stuck its snout through the gaps, gnashing its jaws, trying to grab her. She scrambled backwards, heart hammering in her chest.

She had never seen a wolf before. It was twice as large as the average domestic dog, but its eyes were a bright gold. The wolf clamped its jaws around the bars, trying to chew through the wood. Cracks appeared. "Oh Blessed Divine, save us!" May pleaded.

Ash kicked the wolf in the snout. The wolf released and growled. It lunged again, this time smashing through the weakened bars. It climbed into the cage.

"Have mercy on us!" May cried. Her cries were immediately silenced when the wolf jumped on her. It clamped down on her arm and tore it off with little effort.

Lyra screamed. She was going to die here. Killed by a wolf. It would've been better to die back in her home with her mother. Ash tried to fight the wolf off, but his actions only angered it further. Whilst the wolf was distracted, Lyra crawled out of the cage. Anything was better than dying in a cage. Maybe she'd able to sneak away in the chaos and dim light. She didn't manage to cover much ground when Archer grabbed her.

"I intend to claim my gold," he said. "One slave is better than none." Lyra didn't have the strength to fight him off. He rode away from his men, leaving them to fend for themselves. Some of them fled. Others became food for the wolves. A fate well deserved. In the end only gold mattered.


	3. The Jewel of the North

Thanks to mirrorkinomoto for reviewing the previous chapter.

**.**

**Chapter Two: The Jewel of the North**

Village life had been quiet. Although Lyra had been familiar with everyone, she rarely engaged in conversation with her neighbours. Her mother had been the same, preferring to keep her distance, busying herself with work. They never shared the dinner table with the neighbours and rarely aided each other unless circumstances were dire. Blackthorn was quite the opposite.

There were groups of soldiers patrolling the winding streets, dressed in golden chainmail with golden cloaks, armed with shields ands swords. Lyra noticed a dragonhead emblazoned on the back of their capes marking them as a member of the Dragonite Order of Knights.

Domestic dogs and cats could be found on the streets wandering about and no one seemed to be bothered by their presence. All sorts of commoners could be identified. The slaves were easily noticeable because of the rags, and common soldiers wore chainmail and helms, armed with spears and shields. Local women wore dresses of different colours whilst the men dressed in tunics and black leggings. The air was filled with conversation. Some people were even pointing and looking in her direction.

"You'll be auctioned here," Archer said, gesturing towards the wooden podium.

Lyra spotted another boy with a rope wrapped around his neck, his arms and legs also bound by another piece of rope. He was on his knees. Lyra kept silent. More people had arrived in the city square. Even some of the soldiers had come over to investigate. She drew in a deep breath and swallowed, trying to ignore the tightening sensation in her stomach.

A tall man with a white beard sauntered towards her. The left side of his face had been burned. "The name's Blaine and I own you until you are sold, but first I need to check if you are worth anything to anyone. Archer. Bring her inside." He jerked his head to the left towards a small house.

"Of course." Archer grabbed her arm and led her away from the large crowd.

"Where did you find her? And how long have you had her?" Blaine said, as they entered the house. The room was mostly empty save for the table and chairs in the middle. Supposedly it was just a holding room for slaves until the auction. Blaine looked her up and down.

"In the village of New Bark Town. It's the smallest village I've ever visited."

"And you only found one?"

Archer shrugged. "We could only hold one more person."

Blaine drew his face close. "She looks ill."

"It's a poverty-stricken place. She needs good food. A comfortable bed to sleep in. She'll be right. Have I let you down before?" The man grunted. Archer continued. "Just as I expected. I've brought you slaves before. That Silver boy. He was a good find."

"You said he was given to you."

With a shrug of his shoulders, Archer said, "He was abandoned and given to me. I didn't want to raise some child, so I sold him to you in promise for some good coin." He paused, rubbed his chin then added, "Speaking of coin, I've travelled a long way to give you some slaves. Have I passed your test, Blaine?"

Blaine examined Lyra again, his hot breath washing up against her face. "I want Agatha to examine her. If she passes Agatha's test, then I will pay you the coin you seek. If she doesn't past the test, I won't pay you for this one. I'll return shortly. Don't go anywhere or you won't leave this city in one piece." The man retreated, exiting through the door.

Lyra remained silent and still, her heartbeats becoming more noticeable. It was as if she had just been running. Discomfort spread to her shoulders and her back, and even down to her legs. Fear and doubt were paralysing. She couldn't move even if she wanted to.

Archer had little interest in her too. He paced back and forth, unable to stand still. His pacing became more frantic as time passed on but came to an abrupt stop when the door swung open. An elderly woman with a hunched back stepped through the door, her long scraggly hair falling down her back.

"Agatha," Archer greeted.

The woman ignored him and sauntered towards Lyra as the men stepped back. She was a head shorter than herself, but the woman exuded an odd aura of power despite her diminutive frame making her look fragile. Agatha stopped before Lyra and reached out an arm to grab hers.

It was as if the woman had dunked her hands in ice cold water. Startled, Lyra withdrew her arm, prompting a low chuckle from the woman. A chill raced down her spine, unnerved.

Moments passed when the woman placed her other hand on Lyra's arm. Her grip tightened. Holding her gaze directly, Agatha said, "Arceus has blessed you." Agatha held her grip for a few moments longer then released Lyra's arm, a slow smile spreading across her face. She shifted her attention to the men. "Your captive is pure."

"How do you even know that?" Archer said.

"She is showing no signs of illness."

The man lifted a brow. "You can tell?"

"I am a doctor. I notice things ordinary people do not notice," the woman replied without even looking at the man. Her eyes were still focused on Lyra. "She will serve this kingdom well. Now, if there's nothing else you need of me, then I will walk myself out of this room and return to my quarters."

"Of course. Thank you for your time, Agatha," Blaine said, walking over to the door.

Agatha opened the door and left the building.

"You've passed the test. You'll be sold immediately," Blaine said before turning his attention to Archer. "I'll meet you at the city gates at sundown for your coin. You've done well today." Shifting his focus back to Lyra, he said, "Come on, girl. The crowd awaits." He held out his arm.

Lyra took it. What other choice did she have? Remaining silent, she allowed him to guide her back outside to a hungry mob.

.

"My word is final," Edward Blackthorn said from across the table, his voice low but calm.

His granddaughter, Clair, stood behind the chair on the opposite end of the table, her brows furrowed, and fists hanging at her sides. She paced back and forth her lips pressed together in a thin line. Many servants and even soldiers knew to keep their lips sealed when Clair was in one of her moods, but Edward knew better than to fall victim to her tantrum. She often resorted to childish behaviour to obtain her goals. "You will marry King Alder's grandson, Prince Benga. Your marriage will unite our two kingdoms."

Clair stopped pacing and spun around, grabbing the chair's headpiece, her fingers digging into the decorated wood. "I am not some puppet of yours, grandfather. I refuse to be married to Benga!"

Edward rose from his chair. "I am not just your grandfather – I am your King, and you will do as I command. The prince will arrive in four days' time to meet you before the ceremony. A grand feast will be held in his honour and I expect you to be on your best behaviour." In a less commanding tone he added, "This will benefit our kingdom greatly, Clair. We do have enemies that lurk in the shadows. The mages."

Clair scoffed. "The mages are no longer threat. You drove them away. You won the war. What are we afraid of?"

Edward walked over to the window and peered outside, his eyes shifting to the mountains in the distance. "Not all were killed during the battle. Quite a few of them survived and fled to the woods and the mountains." Once there had been a time the cities had been inundated with mages, but numerous battles and raids had significantly lowered their numbers over the decades. It was believed they had all died out, but Edward remained convinced they still existed, and often sent small raiding parties across the land to ensure no mage set foot upon their lands. "Mages aren't the only threat, Clair. Wolves exist."

He pulled his gaze from outside and looked upwards at the tapestry above the throne. To the left, a group of armoured men wielding swords and shields warding off against humans in robes. Wolves accompanied the robed people. It was said wolves were servants of magic having been products of nature themselves. However, the existence of wolves was often doubted.

"No one has seen a wolf in years since Lance killed one," Clair said. "And that was over five years ago."

The man nodded, a hand stroking his beard. "They are not easy creatures to find."

"I don't know what you are worried about." Clair moved to the opposite side of the throne. "We have the forces. You are the king of the Johto-Kanto region, and all eight cities and towns fall under your leadership. If you wanted an army it would not take long to assemble one. We could purge the world of these abominations."

Edward sighed, and walked over to the window again. Once more he looked towards the mountains as if the answers that he sought were there. He couldn't even see the mountain peaks for they were covered in a thick layer of cloud. Not even the bravest of men would climb to the top. "No other kingdom can field an army that can compare to our own. We need to seek aid elsewhere from foreign shores. Marriage will secure the aid we need."

Clair joined his joined. "Marriage? Lance isn't allowed to marry. Not until he's too old to serve in the army. Isn't that the oath the knights swear, or have you forgotten?" she jested, her arms folded over her chest.

He turned to face her, his jaw tightening. Before Clair could speak another word, he lifted a hand and struck her across the right cheek.

Shocked, Clair stepped back. "You just hit me!"

"I will not tolerate your lack of respect. You will marry Prince Benga of House Unova."

"Prince Benga is a boring man!" Clair protested. "Have you not considered my feelings about this? He prefers to keep his head buried in dusty books than being a man and fighting!"

Edward considered striking her again but restrained himself. Once had been enough. He didn't need her walking around the halls with a reddened face. "He is a suitable option for you, and a pleasant young man." Prince Benga was said to be a kind, wise man with a calm temperament – something Clair lacked. He hoped such a man could influence Clair to act like a normal woman. "You do not get a say in this.

"I am not going to marry a boring man," Clair hissed, her eyes narrowed.

"You will do as I say as long as you live under my rule," Edward replied, his voice low.

Clair recoiled, as if she had been struck in the face again. "You don't care what I want."

"Lance will make you see reason."

A sardonic laugh escaped her throat. "It always comes back to Lance, doesn't it?"

Edward curled his fingers into a fist. "He understands the sacrifices we must make in order to keep the peace You need to understand that and look outside your own interests. We are not commonfolk. Our responsibilities go beyond our own desires. The people of Blackthorn come first. I am doing what is best for the future of our people."

Her eyes narrowed in distaste. "That's the problem. You always do what _you _think is best for everyone, but you never actually ask for opinions outside your own. Don't even bother having the servants prepare a meal for me – I won't be returning to the castle tonight." She headed towards the door then stopped. Before leaving, she glanced over her shoulder and said, "An arranged marriage isn't going to make things better. A good king would realize that."

Edward opened his mouth to reply, but it was already too late. Clair had already left. Holding back a sigh, he turned back to the window and looked down below. He could see crowds of people in the city in the great courtyard. The markets were on today and nobles, peasants and the farmers had come together to exchange their goods. Some foreigners had also come to make a fortune, often bringing in rare pieces of jewellery and scents that only the rich could afford.

"One day you'll understand my decisions," he murmured. Storm clouds billowed to the south above the Blackthorn Forest. Many dangers lurked in the woods and only the strongest of his men could pass through. "Every decision I make is to protect our family," he said aloud. Before the war had even begun, an oracle had told him the Blackthorns would fall to magic. He wouldn't allow that to happen at whatever the cost. A knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts.

"My lord. Your presence is required downstairs. We have news." The voice belonged to his newest personal servant, Joey. The boy had been picked up from a recent slave auction and Edward had purchased him to save him from a crueller a fate. Although slaves in his castle were well looked after, the same couldn't be said for others.

Edward cleared his throat. "I will be there at once." He continued looking down at the courtyard below until he heard Joey's retreating footsteps. Drawing in a deep breath, he walked over a basket in the corner of the room and bent over to pick up his cloak. When in the public eye, he wore the red cloak which had the symbol of an orange dragon head stitched onto the back. It was the symbol of their people and represented strength and bravery. In private affairs, he wore a plain blue cloak. "May the scouts bring good news," he said to himself as he exited through the door.

.

Lyra was forced to kneel on a wooden podium as a thick rope was placed around her neck. Her arms and legs were also bound together by two separate pieces of rope to prevent her from escaping. Not that she would've even if she could. The place was guarded. Escape was nothing but a dream.

"Better to die than to be a slave."

A large crowd of people stood before the podium as they waited for their chance to purchase a slave. There were both men and women available, but none she recognized. All those she had travelled with had been killed by the wolves. A boy with shoulder-length red hair looked back at her, then spat at the ground. She winced, and he chuckled.

"You hear that? The crowd is getting excited. They can't wait to get their hands on us so we can do their dirty work, the lazy bastards. I'm not even for a sale, but that bastard wants to humiliate me some more."

Such a different landscape from what she had grown accustomed to. So many people. So much sound and colour. Arceus was a cruel god. She should've died. She wanted to die. Yet she had survived and witnessed death to become a slave. Only a cruel and a wicked god would allow such a fate. "And who are you?"

"Silver."

The boy that had been abandoned and sold into slavery according to the conversation exchanged between Archer and Blaine.

He snorted. "Not that names even matter. They might decide to give you a new one. You might even be branded with a unique mark so no other master can punish you, but your own master. When they tire of us, they send us to the Pits to die."

"Why aren't you being sold?" Several people in the crowd were pointing at her. One of them even laughed. Her stomach muscles tightened, and she bit down her lower lip. Who would she end up serving? Why had Arceus allowed her to live? Even if she tried to kill herself, she'd somehow survive. Something would happen. He wanted her to live. But why?

"Entertainment. He thinks its funny to put me on for show." He spat at the ground again then looked her up and down. "They'll like you all right. I assume you're a maiden? I pity you if you end up with the commonfolk. They'll certainly rough you up. You should be begging for death."

She shook her head. "I won't let them touch me."

"You think you have a choice? You're such a naive girl. You're one of those country folks aren't you? From a small town?"

Lyra remained silent.

"I figured as much. What do you know about city life? I grew up in the city. I grew up in this filth. I know what happens in these places and if you think you have a choice then you're even more foolish than I thought. You'll be raped tonight. Probably shared by a group."

"You don't know that for sure," Lyra replied.

Silver gave a sardonic laugh. "You really are stupid, aren't you? I suppose you country folk think the world is a nice place. Led to believe the aristocrats are nice people and could never do anything wrong." He tilted his head forward. More people had arrived. "See the smiles on their faces? Don't be fooled. Behind their smiles is a wicked mind."

Lyra didn't respond. She looked towards the crowd again. One of the smiling men walked towards her and reached out a hand, wanting to toucher her, but the guards pushed him back. He tried to fight back but was easily overpowered by the stronger guards. She remained silent, observing, doing her best to hold back tears. Tears would not help her. It would probably only make the situation worse.

"If you can find a way to ease the pain permanently, do it. Better to die than to live the rest of your life as a slave," he said, shifting his attention elsewhere, a scowl on his face. "Here comes the auctioneer." He turned his head to the right.

Lyra followed his gaze, training her eyes on a short squat man with a thick moustache and ginger beard. If she had been standing, the man would've only come to her waist. Still, as short as he was, the crowd seemed to respect him as their laughter and conversation died down. Dressed in all white clothing, the man walked up the stairs onto the podium carrying a golden in his right hand and a small hammer. She supposed he rang the bell to make a sale or to call for silence. He ignored her and walked to the centre of the stage and addressed the crowd.

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen! It is with my great honour that I hold the monthly auction event! We have several servants available every day this week to cater for your household needs! If someone has placed a bid, you have ten seconds to outbid them otherwise the sale will be made."

The crowd met his words with applause. Some people were already pulling out their pouches of coins. Bronze and silver coins were common among the peasants, but only the rich had gold coins in their possession. Twenty-five bronze coins equalled one silver coin and fifty silvers made a single gold coin.

"And let the fun begin…." Silver muttered.

"This morning I have five healthy slaves available! We have three males and two females! This one here in the middle isn't for sale, but he's a prime example of the good health these slaves are in! Make your offers before these slaves are gone forever!"

"Twenty bronze coins!"

"Thirty silver coins!"

"One gold coin!"

Silver snorted. "Twenty bronze coins?"

Lyra ignored him. People were pushing to get to the front of the crowd to examine the slaves up close. One man with a thick moustache with a round face approached her. He was dressed in the standard peasant clothing; a brown tunic with a thin black rope tied around his waist.

He reached a hand towards her, his fat fingers pinching her cheeks. The guards didn't even try to stop him; it seems that once the auction had begun, little care was shown towards the slaves on the market.

She jerked her head back earning a chuckle from the man. "I'm interested in this one. I will pay ten gold coins for her."

"This is an auction, sir. You have to outbid the others before you can claim her."

The man's smile faded. "Do you not recognize me? I am Chuck, the King's right-hand man, and I will purchase this woman."

For a man who was the King's right hand, he certainly didn't look the part. He was a brutish man with thick arms and legs; he looked more at home on a battlefield than living in the royal castle. Lyra assumed that he had come here dressed in ordinary clothing to not draw attention.

A faint red blush appeared on the auctioneer's cheeks. "I am sorry, sir. I-I did not recognize you. Of course. You may have her."

Chuck handed him a large brown pouch full of golden coins then exchanged handshakes with the auctioneer. Turning his attention to Lyra, he said, "On your feet, girl. I will not ask twice." He grabbed Lyra by the wrist, his fingernails digging into her skin.

The rope binding her arms together was untied and she was able to stand. She clambered to her feet and glanced in Silver's direction, but he did not meet her gaze. He was looking elsewhere. She averted her gaze and returned her attention to Chuck.

He guided her away from the crowded auction area and towards the markets. There was a large crowd of people here as well, walking up and down the paved street, browsing the stalls for products that would benefit them or their households. There were stalls selling magical potions. Stalls selling fruits. Some stalls even sold weapons ranging from simple crossbows to short swords. She even spotted a stall selling clothing.

"You will be trained to serve the King," the man said as he navigated through the crowd. Even though his grip was firm, she was glad otherwise she'd become lost in the sea of people. "You will be taught how to perform your duties to the best of your ability to serve King Blackthorn. Sheila will take care of you up until you're training has been done. You will do as you are told. Is that understood, girl?"

She nodded, drawing in a deep breath to steady her racing heartbeat.

"What is your name?"

"Ly-Lyra," she said, her stomach twisting into a knot. He was the King's right hand. He was going to expect great things from her and if she failed to perform… She didn't dare think of what the consequences would entail. Perhaps she'd be fed to the dogs.

"This is your life now, Lyra. You serve the Crown. Whatever life you lived before is in the past and must be forgotten. Your purpose now is to serve. When your training has been completed, the King will analyse you himself and then pass his judgement. Do I make myself clear, Lyra?"

She nodded again. "Yes sir," she answered.

"Do you know how to read and write?"

"Yes sir," she repeated. Her mother had taught her how to read and write.

The man frowned, impressed. "That's an important set of skills you have. Many slaves we capture lack the basics." He continued leading her through the markets until they reached an iron gate. Two guards were standing outside. When they recognized them, they opened the gates to allow them entrance.

Lyra looked ahead in awe. A castle of white stone towered over the kingdom, casting a black shadow over the courtyard. Hedges lined both sides of the single white cobblestone path to the castle gate. The castle itself consisted of five levels and there were four watch towers in each corner to provide sight in all directions.

"This will become your home when you have passed judgement. But for the next three days you will live within the slave quarters." He lifted a hand and pointed to the east, bringing her attention to a wooden building with a straw roof. It was only one storey high and probably had enough rooms for ten people. "Now come. I will introduce you to Sheila."

Lyra kept her mouth shut and followed him towards the building. It wasn't as if she had a choice – he was holding her arm and running away would be foolish. Better to end up here under the protection of the King's right-hand man than be purchased by some commoner.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. The door swung open revealing a woman dressed in a plain grey dress. Lyra saw the beginnings of wrinkles around her hazel eyes. The calloused hands also told her this woman had endured many long years of hard labour. Still, despite this, the woman managed a smile.

"Another one to join the flock?"

Chuck nodded, releasing his grip on her arm. "Yes. Probably in her early twenties. Probably taken from a neighbouring village like the rest of them."

"Oh, you poor thing," the woman said. "What an awful experience, but you must put that grief behind you now. Come inside, dear. Allow me to help you settle into your new life. Be grateful you have a chance to live and serve a great king." She looked at Chuck and waved a hand. "I'll take over now. Report back to the king. Farewell, Chuck."

He bowed. "Farewell, Sheila." He turned his back and walked away.

Once he was gone, Sheila opened the door then gestured for Lyra to follow. The building wasn't as furnished as she thought it would be. She had expected something like her old house, but there were no paintings or decorations in sight. There was a fireplace and a wooden table that could seat ten people and a work bench with the tools for cooking. The other rooms were most likely used for sleeping.

"Although you are being trained for to act as a servant for the king, you will be sleeping here. Slaves are not allowed to sleep within the castle walls. Your room is the last one on the right," Sheila said, raising a hand and drawing her attention to the end of the hall. "What is your name?"

"Lyra."

"That's a pretty name. One of the boys here mentioned the name. You could be her or perhaps not. Does the name Ethan sound familiar to you?"

Ethan. Yes, she recognized the name. Her childhood friend. Lyra nodded. "Yes, it does. We grew up in the same village." And the boy had just disappeared one day. She hoped she had a chance to talk to him about that.

"Oh, excellent. Ethan!" she called out.

A young adult male entered the room. He was good foot taller than Lyra and dressed in a brown tunic, much like the one Chuck had been using. His brown hair fell just beneath the shoulders and there was even a trace of stubble on his chin.

"Sheila, we've got a problem with one of the horses out the back. I think it's-Lyra?"

She stared back at him. "Ethan."


	4. How We Survive

Thanks to mirrorkinomoto and IanAlphaAxel for reviewing the previous chapter.

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**Chapter Three: How We Survive**

"_Not unto us, Blessed Divine, not unto us; but to your name be the glory," the brotherhood chanted in unison, kneeling before the statue of the white stag. Its eyes were bright yellow as if the sun itself shone through them. _

_The high priestess, Naoko, entered the room and stood before the statue, dressed in her clerical white robes. She wore a golden sash around her waist and a golden biretta to denote her status as leader of the priesthood of Ecruteak City. "You are the clerics of the Order of Ash Your mind, body and heart belong to the Phoenix. You will serve the Phoenix until death," the woman said._

_No one said a word. They had to wait for Naoko to give them the command. _

"_Your task is simple. We must purge the world of those who do not believe. The heathens who worship the Blessed Divine. Three holy relics were taken from us during the war, and we must obtain them to strengthen our connection with the Phoenix. Morty, please stand. You have proven you are capable of succeeding in this task."_

_A blond male climbed to his feet, tightening the purple scarf around his neck. "I'm honoured."_

"_You will travel to Blackthorn City."_

_He lifted a brow. "That is the heathen capital. They don't believe in the Phoenix_

_The woman nodded, her black hair falling around her shoulders. "You have been chosen. You will use the Sight to reclaim what is ours."_

_The Sight allowed him to draw on the powers of his faith to combat any threat. All it required was an offering of blood and magic could be harnessed. He bowed his head. "I won't disappoint you."_

"_The wicked must be cast down, and the heart of this corruption beats strongly in Blackthorn City. This evil must be purged from our holy land before we become consumed in darkness," Naoko said, prompting other members of the Order of Ash to nod their heads. "Find the three holy relics and bring them home."_

_He nodded again. "It will be done."_

Morty dropped to his knees and parted the bushes with both hands. Peering through the opening, he spotted a family of four sitting around a campfire cooking a rabbit. There were two children, a boy and a girl who looked to be no older than six years of age. He dropped a hand to his belt, his fingers brushing up against his curved dagger. Fingers wrapping around the hilt of the blade, he withdrew it from its sheath and watched the family before him.

"I am sorry," he murmured. "If only things could be different… But sacrifices are necessary. Blood is a power." The parents had their backs turned and the children were too focused on their rabbit than to notice him approaching. He was only a few feet away now. Their deaths would be swift. They weren't even armed. How foolish.

What others described as murder was a necessary sacrifice to the Order of Ash. Eliminate the weak. Drink their blood from the heart and feel empowered once more. He remained hidden behind the bushes continuing to watch the family.

"Mama, I think I heard something," the girl said.

So much for being discrete.

"Just the wind, my dear," the mother replied.

"I would've expected something more of a challenge," Morty murmured. "You work in mysterious ways, Ho-Oh." He pulled away from the bushes and crept around it, his eyes fixed on the family ahead.

The family hadn't moved from their position. They were still sitting around the campfire cooking their food, completely oblivious to his presence. Perfect. They weren't even armed. This would be easy. He emerged from the shadow and crept towards the adult male, his fingers gripping around the hilt of his dagger. He didn't manage to make another step when the mother looked up from the fire, her dark eyes resting on his face.

She immediately rose to her feet. "Braydon! A bandit!"

"A bandit?" Morty replied curtly. "I'm more than that. I'm sorry I have to interrupt such a feast, but I'm afraid I can't let it continue." He moved swiftly towards the father, plunging his dagger into the back of the man's spine before he could even react.

The man cried out as blade pierced flesh. The mother screamed, and the children looked on in terror. One of them burst into tears. How he hated the sound of sobbing. Such an awful noise. He pulled his dagger out and kicked the man in the back of the knees, forcing him to topple over face first onto the ground.

The mother dropped to her knees, tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked at him with pleading eyes as if that would change his mind. Still, he was interested in hearing what she had to say so he lowered his blade and waited. "Please! Spare the children! Take mine if you must but spare the children!"

So selfless, but oh so foolish. He raised his dagger and pointed the tip at her. "You don't get to make deals. There's only one being that decides your fate and it's not Arceus. Your deaths will go to a great cause so do not feel sad." He walked towards her. Poor commonfolk. So useless. He didn't understand why Ho-Oh needed such weak souls, but he didn't dare question his orders.

The woman didn't even try to fight back. She had probably accepted her fate and saw no point in even trying to defend herself. That just showed to him that she was weak and unworthy of life. She wouldn't even try to fight for her children. Pathetic.

"Why are you doing this?"

He dropped down to his knees and looked at her directly in the eyes. Reaching out both his hands, he placed them on her shoulders and said, "The world must be purified." The last person who dared to disobey the Order's wishes ended up losing a hand. He lowered the edge of the blade to her vulnerable throat and added, "Do not look so glum. Your death will only strengthen our faith." Having grown tired of her simpering nature, Morty withdrew the blade from her neck. Pulling his back, he pointed the blade at her chest then plunged the weapon forward. The tip of the blade pierced the flesh between her breasts.

A gasp escaped her throat as her eyes widened. Hands immediately flew to her chest to attempt to bat away the blade, but her strength faded fast.

He slapped her hands away with his free hand then drove the blade in further, gazing deep into her eyes, watching her life fade away, a sense of calm overcoming him. Blood seeping out of the wound, he withdrew the blade and watched the woman fall to the ground. Within moments, her clothes were dyed red from the blood. He cleaned his dagger on the grass then climbed to his knees, giving the woman one last glance. "Your death will not be in vain," he said, then turned his attention towards the two children.

As expected, both were staring at him with wide eyes, frozen with fear.

Taking the life of an adult didn't bother him, but the murder of a child wasn't so easy. Still, he had his orders and he could not defy the wishes of the Order. Fingers tightening around the hilt of his dagger, he took a step towards the children.

"Mother?" the girl said, eyes glancing down at the corpse, as if hoping she would awaken.

Foolish child. "She's gone to a better place, child," Morty said. "You can go with her. You can be together again. Wouldn't you like that? To reunite with your mother once more? You'd be free of pain and suffering. Doesn't that sound nice?" He continued to close the distance between them.

The girl's brother grabbed his sister's arm.

"Close your eyes. It will be over soon."

The children could've run, but fear paralysed them. They were rooted in place waiting for the inevitable death.

He grabbed the boy first, fingers wrapping around his right arm, holding him in place. Before the child could react, Morty slashed his throat then released his grip, gently giving the boy a shove. He toppled over onto his backside, his hands clutching at his throat, as if that would somehow make things better.

The girl screamed.

Annoyed at the shrill cry, Morty knocked her down over onto the grass then straddled her waist. He put his dagger down before wrapping his hands around her neck. "May you find peace in death," he murmured, tightening his hold.

The girl tried to pry his hands off, but she lacked the strength.

Morty kept his hands in place until she had taken her final breath. Moving his left hand to the side of her neck, he checked for a pulse and found none. Satisfied, he removed both hands then climbed off her, rising to his feet.

He shifted his attention to the mother. All he needed was to draw blood from the heart and consume it. Gazing over his shoulder, he made sure no one else was around before kneeling before the corpse, his blade raised above the heart. He brought it crashing down to better pierce the flesh.

Blood was power.

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A smile spread across her face. "Ethan!"

He returned her smile with one of his own. "Lyra, it is you. Arceus, I never thought I'd see you again," he exclaimed, moving towards her, his arms open and welcoming. He opened his arms and she walked into his embrace. His smile then faded. "The bandits."

She broke free of his arms and nodded. "You didn't return, and I assumed the worst. I am glad to see that is not the case." As if remembering she wasn't alone, Lyra turned her head to the side and looked at Sheila. Although the elderly woman did not seem bothered by their display of friendship. Lyra reminded herself she too was a slave here – she was not a free person.

"Ethan, please take her to room. I must meet with the King, but I will return before the sun has set," the woman said. "Do not wander too far." She took her leave.

Her sudden departure struck Lyra as strange considering she had only just arrived, but she supposed the woman trusted Ethan enough that he would not try to get her out of the castle.

Ethan waited until the woman had left before speaking again. His expression now serious, he said, "Why are you here, Lyra? What happened?"

"You guessed it. Bandits. Our village was attacked. My mother…" she paused, recalling her mother's death then winced at the painful memory, "…was killed by bandits. They took me in… Said I would make a great slave… And so I was brought here. Like we all are. All roads lead to the same destination." Blackthorn Castle.

"I'm sorry about your mother."

Her lower lip trembled as she fought to hold back tears. "She was right… She always said one day our peaceful lives would soon end…"

"You're going to be safe here, Lyra. No one will hurt you."

Her thoughts drifted back to Silver at the auction and his words regarding how some slaves were treated. "Are you sure? Because I met a boy at the auction place, and he would disagree with you. We're slaves, Ethan."

He placed a hand on her shoulder as if to provide comfort. "You won't find that mistreatment here under the King's watchful eye. You will be paid, and you will be protected. We are safe here, Lyra. My life has never been better."

She searched his eyes, trying to find a glimpse of hesitance and doubt within them, but found nothing. Ethan seemed to genuinely believe he was safe here, but did he not miss the life they had in the village? "That might be true… But I find it hard to believe. You value this life over the one we had back at home? Our real home? There were no slaves. There were no soldiers. We were free. We were in control of our lives… And you're saying this is better than that?"

Ethan pulled back his hand. Drawing in a deep breath, he said, "We don't have bandits to fear, Lyra. Look at what happened to your mother. Our home was never safe." He then raised his hands and pointed upwards at the ceiling. "This is home. We're safe within these walls. No army has the numbers to bring down this fortress. I understand that you are nervous, but trust me… You've got nothing to be concerned about. We serve the King well and he treats us kindly in return. He is not a cruel man. You will see for yourself."

She wasn't entirely convinced, but Ethan was a stubborn man and he wasn't going to change his mind. Better to drop the subject entirely than to keep pestering him about it. Pushing aside thoughts of her mother and slavery, she said, "What do you do here? What should I be aware of?"

He gestured towards the door. "I'll show you around the city, so you know important locations," he said, as he motioned for her to follow him.

Lyra started moving as Ethan continued his explanation. "Okay.

"The city is divided into four districts. We're in the Royal Quarters. To the east, we have what is known as the Thorns. That's where the soldiers gather for training. To the west, we have Blacklake. As the name suggests, there's a small lake there and a lot of the city folk gather around for festivals and entertainment. A tavern known as the Board Laid Bare can be found there and it's the most popular one in the city. To the south, which is where you entered from, is the Market District. And finally, to the north of the castle, is the Residential District where most people make their homes. Outside the castle walls we have farmland."

Lyra nodded. "Are slaves allowed to go to the tavern?"

"Only if their masters allow it," Ethan replied. "Some masters think their slaves will meet with other slaves and plan a revolt. Only slaves that have been mistreated would think to revolt, but you'll be relieved to know Sheila is not like that at all. She will allow us to visit the tavern at certain hours of the day. We're only allowed to visit an hour before the sun has set and only once we've finished our tasks for the day. I can take you there now – you should meet with the tavern owner after all. He's our main source of gossip and you'll be making plenty of trips there anyway, so let's go." He pushed open the door and stepped outside.

She was starting to see why Ethan was satisfied with the current life. Although he was a slave, he seemed to have some freedom. For now. "Lead the way."

.

Lance dropped onto his knees and peered down at the ground before him, his dark eyes fixed on a trail of pawprints. He reached down his right hand, fingers gently touching the muddy tracks, tracing the outline. Wolf prints. He frowned. The last wolf he had seen had been over five years ago. Edward often sent Lance and a small group of men to the woods on hunting trips to purify the land of the mages, but not the wolves.

He wasn't sure why Edward feared the wolves so much. It wasn't as if the wolves could do anything. They had no home. No castle. No army. No leader. Nothing. It wasn't as if they had received reports of wolves running rampant across the region attacking people. Still, he didn't dare refuse his grandfather's orders.

"You know, I'm going to miss our little adventures together," his companion said.

Lance glanced up. Bruno, his closest friend, was leaning against a tree trunk, his thick arms folded across his chest. "What do you mean?"

The man pulled away from the tree, unfolding his arms letting them drop to his sides. "I'm resigning, Lance. My service to your grandfather is done." He pushed his long dark hair back over his shoulder.

Rising to his feet, Lance frowned and said, "But you can't just leave. We swore an oath to serve." All men who wanted to serve in the king's army had to swear an oath upon joining the Dragonite Order. "I will not marry, nor indulge in pleasures of the flesh. I will fight for as long as my body allows it. I submit myself to the king."

Bruno shook his head. "And I have no interest in spilling blood, Lance. What have we achieved over the years? So, we've slain a few mages, but to what benefit? And the wolves too – this is what? The first set of wolf prints we've seen in the past decade. What does that tell you? They're not a threat. What exactly do you hope to achieve, Lance?"

"We have orders. Wolves and mages pose a threat to the safety of our kingdom, and they must be stopped. If we ever want to safe, all threats must be eliminated. That's why we are here. We're culling their numbers," Lance explained using the exact same words his grandfather had used when explaining why the mages must be stopped.

Rolling his eyes, Bruno snorted. "You know that is a piss poor excuse. You don't even know why you are doing these raids… You do it because you're an obedient grandson, but you don't ask the questions." He sighed and gestured at the paw prints. "Those wolves are smart enough not to try and challenge us outside a full moon night. As strong as they are rumoured to be, I don't think they'll want to fight you. You've slain a wolf before."

"Years ago in my first year as a knight," Lance replied. He had been exploring the forest tracking down a rogue mage when a young male had approached him. The boy had a maddened gleam in his eyes and a hint of yellow in them. A werewolf. Lance had driven a blade through the boy's heart. "It wasn't a fair fight. He was just a kid."

"A werewolf, Lance."

"A teenager, Bruno. He wasn't carrying a sword even. Not a real challenge."

"Yet your grandfather thought it was a marvellous achievement and thus you were knighted the next morning. I was there."

Lance glanced down at his sword. Unlike other blades, his weapon could not be destroyed. It had bene forged with dragon's fire centuries ago and passed down from generation to generation. His grandfather had given him the blade as a gift at his knighting ceremony. "An underserved knighting."

"Arceus favours you."

"And I don't know why. I'm no different to any other man with a sword."

"You have king's blood in your veins. That makes you important."

"And it doesn't grant me magical powers or enhanced strength."

Bruno snorted. "You're stronger than any man your age, Lance. You can even defeat opponents older and more experienced than you. Don't you find that odd? You could argue you're just committed to becoming the best, but I've never seen no man fight as well as you can. You always seem to have quicker reaction times. You don't tire so easily. You even heal faster. Arceus has blessed you."

"And is that why you're leaving the army then?" Lance replied with a frown. "Because you see no need to continue fighting. I can stop you from leaving. I'm the knight-commander."

"That's an abuse of power, Lance."

"What are you going to do then?"

"Marry a beautiful girl and build a house for my family in the countryside far away from the kingdom. Isn't that the life we all want if we had the choice? To be far away from war and live in the comfort of your own home with the people that you love? It is what I have always dreamed of." Bruno stretched his arms to the side then dropped a hand to his blade's hilt on the right side of his waist. "Have you ever thought of retiring?"

Lance shook his head. "I swore an oath, Bruno. I will continue fighting until I can no longer use a sword. I'll marry as an old man."

"And I feel sorry for that young woman."

"And do you believe my grandfather will just let you walk away?"

With a roll of his eyes, Bruno shook his head. "Of course not. I don't intend to tell him. I'm just going to leave and he's not going to find me because you're not going to come searching."

Lance looked at him in disbelief. "I could make you stay." Keep Bruno in chains and locked away in the dungeons below the castle – but he wasn't cruel. Bruno had raised some good points. Freedom of choice, love and peace. Three things that weren't obtained through service in the military.

"You won't say anything will you?" Bruno said.

He shook his head. "No, I won't. I'm not going to stop you from pursuing a life elsewhere. I just hope that the path you choose ends up a rewarding one. I will miss your company – you've been a loyal soldier of my grandfather's army for over a decade now." One of the longest serving to be precise. Both he and Lance had joined the army around the same time and together had undergone many missions involving hunting the druids.

"I'll be sure to send letters to keep you informed of my journeys."

Lance nodded. "And I look forward to reading them."

"What are you going to do, Lance? You can't fight this war forever. Eventually, age will catch up with you and you'll have to consider other options. Settling down, having a family…"

"I swore an oath, Bruno. The same one you did. Except I don't plan on abandoning it. Grandfather understands. Until that day comes, grandfather wants Clair to marry to form an alliance with other powerful families."

Bruno frowned. "Wait. Clair? I don't mean any offense, but Clair? She's not exactly… what I would call wife material."

The same words Clair often repeated to their grandfather when he was giving her the future of the family lecture. Unlike most of the maids whom served his family, Clair had no interest in marriage and raising children. She preferred engaging in masculine activity such as wrestling and discussing battle strategies and often he would find her sneaking into the gladiator arena to speak with the fighters.

"Better not let her hear you say that…. Even though your words are true."

Bruno's expression remained stern. "But you are serious? This is your life?"

"I've chosen this life," Lance replied, turning his back and looking towards the castle. He could see the highest tower in the distance. "I'm not in a position to refuse my grandfather's orders… The king's orders may I remind you."

Bruno snorted. "And you don't have a problem with that? You're just going to blindly follow your grandfather's wishes?"

Turning back around, Lance frowned. "My mother died during childbirth, and my father had left after I had been born. That's what grandfather told me. I was showing signs of an illness, grandfather said. That's why father walked out on me. Didn't want a sick child. Grandfather could've had me killed as they do with sick children, but he believed in me. And here I am. I owe my life to him."

"I'm sorry… I didn't know."

"No one outside my family does… and I'd rather not discuss it. My father left. He was a breaker of oaths, grandfather said. That's why he was a sell sword who had come to this city looking for some work, but instead he met my mother and stayed." He paused then snorted. Edward had such little respect for the man he hadn't even mentioned what his name was. "I have no interest in finding him. I don't even want to know his name. The less I know the better. All I know is I swore to better than that."

Lance turned away from Bruno and focused his eyes on the path ahead, not liking where the conversation was heading. His upbringing wasn't something he liked to discuss. Instead, he focused his attention on finding footprints belonging to the wolves. He scanned the dirt. There. Some footprints. He moved closer then dropped down on one knee for a closer look. Not wolf prints, but human.

"They could be in their human form?" Bruno suggested.

"Let's see where they lead." Lance climbed to his feet and followed the track. Wolf prints would normally lead to a corpse of either human or animal. Corpses of a victim of a wolf were mutilated making it difficult to identify the faces. The tracks stopped in a clearing. Three bodies. An adult and two children. "Clean kills," Lance remarked.

"Yes… to an extent," Bruno said. "The corpses are intact."

"Which means it wasn't the work of the wolves…" Lance kneeled beside the adult for a closer look. A stab wound in the chest, and a five-pointed star drawn in blood on the foreheads. "Not a typical mage. They wouldn't use a knife to kill someone when they could just use magic for a cleaner death."

"Then who else could it be? Bandits? You know there are a few rogue soldiers around the region preying on the helpless."

Lance shook his head. "No. A bandit wouldn't just murder someone. They would keep a person hostage or sell them as a slave. A dead person is of no use to a bandit." He frowned, his eyes moving towards the children. "It takes a person with a cold heart to kill an innocent child. I don't know what they were hoping to achieve."

"Perhaps their murderer was looking for food?" Bruno said, tilting his head towards the nearby fireplace. "He came across this camp, didn't want to share and killed them."

Lance climbed to his feet. "Perhaps… But I believe there is a more sinister motive here."

"What? You think there's a cult here at work?"

"Necromancy," Lance replied with a frown. "But we haven't seen them in decades. Yet I've seen this five-pointed star in Koga's books before." Necromancy was supposedly a dead school of magic – his grandfather had stated all the necromancers had been killed centuries ago and their knowledge of the magic had died with them. "We haven't seen any signs of necromancer activity in decades. Not since the war that won my great grandfather the throne," Lance stated.

"We can't rule it out. You should probably tell your grandfather. Best he's informed of this sighting."

He couldn't argue with that. Edward would probably send him on another scouting mission to find more clues. If the threat of necromancy proved to be real, then they would be facing a battle on two sides – the mages and the wolves and the dark magic of the necromancers. "If these clues turn out to be something greater… Would that lure you back to the kingdom?"

"It would. It's something that would threaten the entire region."

"Then I'll be sure to keep your informed of our progress." He glanced down at the corpses again and sighed. As much as he would've liked to have given them a proper burial, his grandfather would not allow non-Blackthorn citizens to be buried within their castle walls. He also didn't have the tools to bury them here in the forest and questions would be asked of him should he leave the city with the necessary equipment to bury the dead. No one cared about the outsiders until they became a threat. "We should return at once."

"And leave the dead?"

"The sun will be setting soon, and I would rather not be here at night when dangerous creatures lurk in the forests. They know these woods better than we do," Lance reasoned. It wasn't just the mages they had to contend with – there were other threats that lurked in the shadows such as the wild boars and bears.

Bruno nodded. "indeed." He didn't say another word and walked towards the forest boundary in silence. Lance spared another glance at the family then turned around and followed Bruno.


	5. Unsettling Rumours

Apologies for the long wait. I updated this story in December 2019, but a lot has changed since then. I would strongly recommend re-reading the first four chapters because I've added a lot of material.

In Feburary 2020 up until July 2020, I went through every scene and fixed stuff up so that it made a little more sense. I also fleshed a few things because I felt some scenes were unfinished. So yes, I strongly recommend going back otherwise future chapters will make little sense.

Anyways. I'm happy to announce this story is complete, and I hope to update weekly!

Thanks to mirrorkinomoto for reviewing the previous chapter.

.

**Chapter Four: Unsettling Rumours**

Morty was supposed to be on his way to Blackthorn City, but the journey was long, and he needed rest. Travelling by foot was exhausting even for a mage. There were no spells to reduce fatigue, and his people did not have horses. Fortunately, Cherrygrove City was nearby. It was one of the smaller cities in the region. It was rumoured less than a hundred people lived here. The city was known for its cherry-coloured wood, and it was their main export.

He headed to the local tavern, placing his weapons back in their sheaths before heading inside. Soldiers and mercenaries often passed through the small city, but still the sight of one made the locals weary. It made them think there was danger nearby. Pulling the hood over his head, he walked to the farthest table away from the counter and sat down. The tavern was quite small, but lively. There was a total of eight round tables with four stools each, and each one was occupied save for the one he was sitting at. Three women dressed in plain brown dresses brought food and drinks out to the customers.

One of the women kept looking in his direction. Morty didn't much notice of her. He hadn't come to the tavern to meet women like many other soldiers did. What did people have to gain out of a single night of pleasure? It didn't benefit anyone. What a waste of time. He saw one of the soldiers exchanging smiles with one of the women. Morty looked away. _Pathetic fools_, he thought. How many of them had ever killed a man before? Or did they just carry their swords for decoration?

A man sat down at this table across from him. A muscle twitched in Morty's jaw. Right. The man hadn't even bothered to ask. If this wasn't a public place, he would've killed that man. He studied the man opposite to him. Short light brown hair. A scraggly beard. Crystal blue eyes. A purple tunic of all things. And the unmissable horizontal scar across his right cheekbone. He knew this man. Eusine. His old friend from Ecruteak. A foolish man who had failed to pass the first trial.

"Morty? That you?"

"Yes, unfortunately. What are you doing here?"

Eusine leaned forward. "Funny that. I was going to ask you the same thing."

"I'm here for business reasons."

"Oh. I didn't think the Brotherhood would send us to a tavern. Aren't you supposed to be heading to Blackthorn?"

Morty glared and narrowed his eyes. "I _was_, but I decided to take a short break. Besides. It's cloudy and I don't want to get caught in the rain. Not fun walking through mud. Why are you here? I didn't realize you were on a mission."

The boy returned a smug look. "After you were sent to Blackthorn, Naoko told me I was being assigned to Azalea Town to meet with our spy, Will. One of our longest serving members disappeared a few months back, and I've been asked to investigate and solve the issue. Will says there are some strange noises down the well at night. Sometimes, people even go missing."

"Will?" Morty repeated, uncertain. The name was foreign to him.

"Yes, Morty, Will. I have friends. You two would get on quite well. You're both dry as a desert," he commented, leaning back in his chair. "He's one of those treasure hunters, and travels from place to place learning as much as he can. He told me about the problem in Azalea as I was passing through. I thought you might be interested."

"And why would I even care? Isn't this task assigned to you, Eusin? So, convince me, why would I want to help you complete your task when I have my own?" Though, he was curious to learn more. If he could bring back something of importance to the Brotherhood upon his return, it might be enough to promote him to a higher rank.

Eusine turned away, looking for one of the waitresses. He called one over. "She's a beauty that one," he said.

Now Morty looked. Eusine was looking at a dark-skinned woman with short brown hair. The woman wore two pink flowers behind her ears. She swayed her hips as she walked across the floor, smiling at every man who looked her way.

"What do you think?"

"I think you're wasting your time."

Eusine looked at him with a scowl. "Must everything you say be so condescending?"

Morty shrugged. "You asked for my opinion."

Rolling his eyes, Eusine shifted attention back towards the woman. "Have you never been with a woman before? You know these girls are always happy to tend to serve."

"And waste my hard-earned coin? No. I'll pass."

"I take that as a no then. Still sour over Whitney?"

At the mention of Whitney, Morty tightened his jaw. "I never cared."

"Then why not take this girl for a night? I'll even pay. Maybe it'll lighten your mood."

"Would you like to find a sword in your back?"

Eusine looked at him again. "You're a moody cynical bastard."

"And yet you are asking for my help. Choose your words carefully, Eusine."

"Fine. If you don't want her, I'll have her." Again, he called the girl over. This time, she noticed. "Hello there! I must say you look stunning. Those flowers. I've never seen anything like them before."

"Oh," she replied, bringing a hand to one of the pink petals. "They're called azaleas."

"You're from Azalea Town then?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm actually from Hoenn. I'm just here to get away from the troubles back at home, that's all." She turned her attention to Morty.

Morty gave her a blank stare.

"You look like you need something strong."

"I'm sure it'll help. I'll have whatever."

"Oh, me too," Eusine chirped. "I'll have what he's having."

The woman's eyes lingered on Morty's face for a few moments before nodding and turning away.

Morty watched her retreat, frowning. Did she know him? Perhaps she was one of the Order's contacts. Sometimes he stationed spies in towns and cities.

"Did you change your mind about her? She seems interested in you. Even back at home, women seemed interested in you. I don't know why though," he added, seeming disappointed.

"I'm not interested in bedding anyone."

"Well, your loss. Thought it might help you cope."

"I don't need help coping with anything."

"You surround yourself with death, but I know the truth."

Morty glared. "You have no idea what you are talking about it."

"I do. We grew up in the same village. I was there when you passed your trials. I was there when Naoko accepted you into the inner circle. I was also there when Whitney was buried. You said you didn't care – that it had to be done. She had to die for you to ascend. But I don't think you've ever forgiven yourself."

"You know what? I've changed my mind." Morty stood up.

Eusine also rose to his feet and placed a hand on the table. "I need your help. No one else will. I promise I'll stop talking about her… but a distraction could do you some good. I'll see you in the morning in Azalea Town outside the well. It's a short walk to the east from here. Just follow the path." He placed a few coins on the table and walked off. Morty sighed. He looked in the woman's direction again. Eusine had called her a distraction. Whitney had been a distraction too. It's why she had to be the one to die. It was Whitney or the Order.

He leaned back in his chair. So full of life she had been. Always positive. Always smiling. She didn't care he was a mage. She didn't believe mages were bad. How you were born did not define you. The future had looked bright. But then Naoko and her sisters had come came along and enlisted him. Whitney interfered with those plans. A distraction Naoko had called her. She had to die for Morty to ascend and be accepted. He chose power.

The woman returned with the drinks. He didn't even thank her, too distracted by his own thoughts. She said something, but he wasn't paying attention. She walked away to find better company. Lost in his own thoughts, he picked up the mug and took a swig. Sweet. Very sweet. He put it down again. The quicker he returned to work, the better for his mind. Moments of silence allowed the past to rear its ugly head. He didn't even finish his drink. Leaving a few coins on the table, he stood up and left the building. This wasn't the distraction he needed. Spilling blood was more productive.

.

Edward was easy to find. He was in his usual spot – the Meeting Room. All conversations regarding military, politics and economics took place here, and often only involved no more than five people including the king himself. Sometimes the mayors of the local towns were summoned to attend a private discussion with the king, but usually meetings involved people within the city who held important positions.

"Grandfather, I bring dire news," Lance said from behind the wooden door. He heard movement of footsteps then the sound of a key being inserted into a keyhole. The door swung open. Lance raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you start locking the door to the council room?"

"An insurance policy, that is all," Edward answered stepping aside. "What news do you bring?"

Lance stepped through the door then closed it behind him. "Bruno and I discovered three bodies in the woods to the east. An adult female and two children, a boy and a girl. Not the work of the wolves because the bodies could be identified, but the work of someone else. You told me the necromancers were no longer a threat, but what if that is no longer the case?"

His grandfather shook his head.

Lance noted the black bags beneath his eyes. Strange. It wasn't as if the kingdom was facing any major threat so what could be causing enough stress that would give the man issues sleeping?

"Necromancy is a dead school of magic. No one has practiced it in centuries. Don't you think if necromancy had returned, we would have seen sightings of the dead living again?" Edward replied.

Lance wasn't convinced. "What if they are in hiding and simply biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike? Their defeat decades ago would've taught them to stay in the shadows. We should keep an eye out for them, grandfather."

Again, Edward shook his head, then rubbed his chin. "No. There are other important matters to attend to than searching for evidence of a cult long dead. The cult fell when their leader fell." His grandfather walked towards one of the open windows. "I received a letter from Pryce about a problem at the Lake of Rage. You are to travel alone and visit Mahogany Town to address this issue."

"What sort of problem?" Lance decided not to raise the matter of the wolf prints either.

The man turned away from the window and said, "He didn't go into much detail, but he mentioned something along the lines of a strange creature having taken residence. The villagers use the water from the lake for food and cleaning necessities, but this creature is preventing that. We receive fish from our allies there and we can't afford this disruption."

Like an obedient grandson and loyal knight, Lance nodded. Clearly, his grandfather was not interested in discussing the necromancers. Perhaps he would be more open to discussion once this problem was solved. "Then I will investigate and resolve this problem. But I must ask – should I not bring more soldiers with me?"

Edward shook his head. "This is a task for you alone."

Perhaps his grandfather knew more about this threat than he was letting on, but Lance didn't push. He viewed it as a challenge. "Of course."

"I knew you would not refuse." Edward gave him a brief smile then added, "I wish Clair was as obedient as you. You must speak with her and convince her that this marriage will benefit the family greatly."

"Clair has her own mind, grandfather. She can make decisions for herself – she doesn't need you making them for her. If you force her into this marriage, she won't be happy and then you'll lose her for good," Lance explained.

Clair loved their grandfather, but she didn't like having control taken away from her. She wasn't someone who could adjust to marriage life – she had a free and restless spirit and such a life would only cause her to seek trouble elsewhere. Clair liked to push boundaries, and she would continue to push.

"Is that what you want? For your own granddaughter to despise you?"

Edward sighed, wiping his forehead with his right hand. "You must understand. This marriage will secure our family's future. The Blackthorn name can't be forgotten."

Lance raised a brow. "And you honestly think Clair will settle for the family life? If that is what you think then you don't know her well at all."

"She listens to you, Lance," Edward replied, his tone almost pleading.

"I'm not going to try and persuade her to change her mind." Lance turned his back and headed towards the door when he felt a hand grab his arm. Holding back a sigh, Lance turned around to face his grandfather once more. "You want to take her freedom. As if her freedoms aren't already limited. You wish to take more."

Although Clair was part of a royal bloodline, she was still restricted to a woman's role in society. Women weren't allowed to join the military nor were they allowed to vote. A women's only role was to serve the family and look after the children and their husbands.

Edward released his grip. "I want what is best for her."

Lance shook his head. "No, you want what is best for you. I don't want to argue with you, grandfather, and I know you care about Clair… But you can't force her to marry someone that is not of her choosing. What exactly is this marriage going to achieve? A brief alliance with King Alder's family in Unova until they tire of Clair?"

"That is out of the question, Lance. No royal couple will separate when children are involved."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Children? Clair?" He forced a laugh. "You really do not know Clair well at all because if you did, you would know having children is the last thing on her mind. She is not like her mother, grandfather."

Although he had only met Clair's mother once, he had heard many stories about her. She always put her family above everyone else and desired nothing but settling down and having a family of her own. The total opposite of Clair.

"She will understand in time," Edward said.

Lance scoffed, then narrowed his eyes. "She's not her mother," he repeated. After a pause, he drew in his breath to calm himself then added, "I should prepare for the journey to Mahogany. Do take care of yourself, grandfather." Without giving his grandfather a chance to respond, Lance opened the door and exited.

.

Every time Clair visited the markets, she always found something that grabbed her interest. Today was no different. She could spend hours just browsing each stall. Sometimes she would buy objects just because she could; other times she would spend money to prevent other people from purchasing them even if she had no need for them. Of course, her actions led to having an unfavourable opinion from the public, but she didn't care. If her grandfather remained king, no one would dare harm her or risk incurring his wrath, so she was free to spend her money at will.

"Are you serious? Your grandfather wants you to marry that fool, Benga?" Karen scoffed.

Clair nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. He says it will be for the good of the family's legacy, but he fails to see it from my point of view. He only thinks about himself. I don't even get a say in this and it's my body he wants to marry off! You'd think I'd be entitled to an opinion. Benga is supposed to be arriving this week, so he and I can have some time to get to know each other. How pathetic is that?"

Karen raised a brow. "Benga? The Unovan Prince? Your grandfather wants you to marry that?" She stifled a laugh. "You know, I've heard so many stories about him from other women. Word travels far. They say he's all just talk and no action. Sounds like a dull life if you ask me," she said, giving Clair a lopsided grin. "So. What are you going to do about it? Don't tell me you actually have to marry him."

"I don't get a choice, Karen. Believe me, if I had a say in whom I married, Benga wouldn't be anywhere near the top of my list." She didn't know much about the Prince of Unova. She never cared to listen to her grandfather's talks about the other leaders. "…How do you know so much about him anyway? You haven't even been to Unova."

"Have you ever visited the tavern?"

Clair shook her head. "Of course not. My grandfather would not allow it. He says the tavern is home to people who have ill intentions that like to gossip." It was no secret her grandfather despised the tavern. It was a place for people to come together and gossip or as her grandfather called it, 'spreading poison'. She had always wanted to visit the tavern, but Lance would never take her, and no other soldier would risk taking her there and incurring the king's wrath. Sneaking in and disguising herself as a man was also too risky – her face was too well recognized.

"Wow. You haven't lived at all. Abandon all your plans – you are coming to the tavern with me."

"And how are we supposed to even get in? You know what the law states. Besides, people will recognize me."

Rolling her eyes, Karen said, "I wouldn't be bringing you along without a plan you know." She grabbed Clair's right arm and pulled her towards the right. "A woman called Agatha arrived in town recently. You've probably heard of her before – she's known as the Hag. A nasty old crone she is, but she does make powerful potions for a price."

"The most talented in all of the region, I've heard," Clair replied then frowned. "Grandfather had tried to appoint her as the surgeon, but she turned down the role. He's been looking for her ever since… And now you're telling me she's here on our castle grounds?"

Karen nodded. "She doesn't stay for long and she conceals herself well."

"What? Using magic?"

Karen looked hesitant to speak more.

Clair sighed. "I'm not my grandfather, Karen. I don't fear magic like he does. You think I'm going to tell him Agatha is in town? He's always trying to ruin my fun. This could be my last chance to do something with my life. So, let's visit Agatha. How do you even know she is here anyway?"

"Tavern gossip. Soldiers. I always know how to get information from people.

Clair didn't pry for details. Knowing Karen, she had probably offered her body in exchange for services and information. "So, what exactly does this potion do anyway?"

"You'll see it for yourself. Come this way."

Clair didn't ask more questions. She had to trust that Karen had taken this potion before or at least had seen firsthand its effects. Karen led the way through the crowded streets towards what was typically seen as the lower end of the commoner class. The average commoner worked on the farms, went hunting in the woods or chopped down trees, whilst the educated worked as smithies, clerics or soldiers. Uneducated women often turned to prostitution to earn money to help raise their families.

She followed Karen through the winding paths of the cobblestone streets until they reached the apothecary. The building was easily identified by the bushes that formed a fence around it. No other building within the kingdom had a wall. She supposed the bushes had been specifically planted that way to reduce the chances of theft. There was no way to climb over them or part the bushes to make a wide enough opening to crawl through, and the branches were also lined with sharp thorns. Even a gentle brush against them would pierce flesh. Some people even believed they were poisonous. The only way to reach the entrance was through the small opening in the hedge fence.

Karen approached the door and knocked three times. At first, there was silence, but moments later the door opened.

An elderly woman with a vertical scar on her right eye stood before them. She did not greet them with a smile, but rather with a cold, calculating look, as if annoyed by the sudden disturbance. Her eyes shifted from Clair to Karen then back to Clair again. "I know you. You are the king's granddaughter."

"Yes, that's me, Clair."

The woman didn't seem impressed. "What do you want?"

Slightly annoyed, Clair folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. She was about to open her mouth and demand better treatment from the old crone, but Karen spoke first, as if she expected Clair to make a complaint.

"We have come to you to ask for a disguise. We've heard much about your magic and that is why we've come directly to you," Karen explained. After a pause, she added, "We can pay you good coin." As if that would convince Agatha to help them.

_Her _good coin. Karen wasn't poor. But she certainly wasn't rich either. "How much will it cost?" Clair said, as she felt Karen gently nudge her in the ribs.

The elderly woman shifted her gaze back and forth until resting on Clair. "Twenty gold per person."

That was more coin than an educated person would earn in a year. She hoped Agatha's magic was as good as Karen claimed it to be. Otherwise she would be ordering for the woman's head to be chopped off. No one made a fool of her and she certainly didn't like her money going to waste. Clair dropped a hand to her satchel hanging off to the side of her right hip and grabbed two bags of gold coins. Each one held exactly twenty gold coins. She always came prepared. "This better be worth it," she said, handing the money bags over to the woman.

The woman's eyebrows arched up. It seemed she hadn't been expecting them to afford the cost. "You are eager," the woman said, dark eyes boring into Clair's own. "This is powerful magic, and as such there will be side effects. This disguise is temporary – when you feel a warm burn under your skin, you must leave at once or your true faces will be revealed. Are you sure you wish to proceed?"

Karen nodded. "Of course. We wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Then come inside where we may proceed behind closed doors." She stepped aside allowing them to enter.

There was a bitter scent in the room. Clair couldn't quite tell what it was, but the smell was strong. Doubt filled her as the door closed behind her. Her grandfather had always said magic could not be trusted; that magic destroyed lives; but here she was ready to allow this magic to enter her system. The woman had mentioned there would be side effects. She turned her head sideways and caught Karen's eye.

"This is going to be great," Karen said. "You're not afraid, are you?"

Clair snorted. "Of course not. I was going to ask you the same thing."

Karen grinned. "I've got nothing to be afraid of." She pulled away.

Clair didn't say another word and followed Karen. The building wasn't much different from the standard hut the commoners lived in. There was one room for sleeping, another room for cooking and the dining area where the family would come together and eat their food on a wooden table before the fireplace. The only room the typical hut did not have was the surgery area and this was simply a bed and a table to keep the surgical equipment. It was also where the potions were made to treat wounds and other illnesses.

Agatha was waiting for them. She pointed to two chairs. "Take a seat. I will return shortly with the potions you must drink. Do not touch anything." She took her leave as both Clair and Karen took their seats.

The room was dark and plain. Unlike her own room, the building's walls were plain – her own room had decorated wallpaper to give it colour. The walls in this building were a dull grey. _How depressing, _she thought. On the table, she saw many plain copper jars, each one with text on it. One read 'snails' and another read 'goat hearts'. She made a face. Gross.

Karen also seemed to share the same thought as she made a faint gagging noise.

"I can't believe we're doing this. The tavern better be worth it," Clair complained, scrunching up her face.

"I'm sure it will," Karen said, hands resting on her lap. "We're going to have so much fun. We can do whatever and no one is going to recognize us."

Clair didn't respond, lost in her own thoughts. She hoped Karen was right. After all, she'd hate to see good coin go to waste.

.

The tavern was much larger than Lyra had imagined, and far livelier than she had been expecting. The building was four storeys tall and made from a mixture of wood, stone and brick. A wooden sign hanging above the entrance read, 'The Board Laid Bare'. Ethan had mentioned earlier this was the most popular tavern in all of Blackthorn. She could hear the raucous laughter from within and the smell of beer, mead and ale sifting through the open windows.

"I know it sounds like a lot…. But don't be intimidated. Just don't talk to anyone you don't recognize. Sometimes people stop acting like themselves after they have drunk too much, and they may interpret your words to mean something else and then you'll be in trouble. Just stay close and they won't be a problem." Ethan approached the door then pushed it open.

Lyra followed him through and scrunched up her face at the strong scent of ale. A few people looked in their direction, but their glances were short lived.

Ethan navigated through the crowd, guiding her towards the counter.

As she followed him, she took note of their surroundings. There were twelve circular wooden tables with two benches that could each fit five people and a fireplace to the north east which currently had a large pig roasting on the spit. Large barrels of wine were positioned to the western corner near one of the open windows which provided the only source of light. The floor itself was made from planks of wood.

"Well, look who it is, Ethan, and you brought a fine lass with you too!"

Lyra pulled her attention away from her surroundings and turned towards the speaker. He was standing behind the counter, one hand on a silver goblet, the other resting on the counter. This must be the one Ethan had called Gary. He was a fine-looking man with messy brown hair and dark eyes. He seemed to have a permanent grin on his face, as if always amused by something. His eyes locked on hers and she could've sworn he winked.

"Don't get any ideas, Gary. She's new to this city," Ethan replied, resting his elbows on the surface of the counter.

"Ah, one of the new slaves then? What a shame."

Lyra frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't mean any offense… It's just that… if you are with Ethan that means you're going to end up in the castle serving as the maid of the royal family. Castle slaves are treated better than the average ones. Believe me. You should see some of the scars." He turned away briefly to fill up someone's drink then turned back to them again. "Anyway. One of the slaves who came in last week said he found something strange when he was helping his master chop down in trees in the woods. Said he came across some funny markings on a tree. You haven't heard of such a thing before, have you?"

Ethan shook his head. "Are you sure this young lad wasn't drunk?"

Gary rolled his eyes. "I'm just telling you what I heard."

"So, what did these markings look like?"

"It was a five-pointed star," he said.

"I've read about those starts before… in a story," Ethan said.

Lifting an eyebrow, Lyra said, "Five-pointed stars? I've never heard of that one before. Tell me more." A lie of course. She had seen the markings before that night when the wolves had attacked the bandits.

Ethan opened his mouth to reply, but Gary spoke first.

He grinned. "I'll be happy to tell you. Decades ago, everyone practiced magic, right? Magic was used by everyone that knew how to use it. A man called Nathaniel arrived in the city with a man called Krahiya. Together, they built this school to teach magic. A third man was with them, but he had never been named."

"Why is that?" Lyra said.

Gary shrugged. "His name has been scribbled out from the books. He started the Time of Troubles. So, they erased his name. It's what they do with criminals here. Anyone who commits a heinous crime loses their identity. So, that's why he has no name in history. This man found a way to manipulate blood to harm his enemies and heal himself. He started a school of his own and there were six others. This school was known as necromancy and he would mark his victims with a five-pointed star. That's what the stories said. He was said to be the strongest of them all."

A few more people lined up at the counter to order themselves a few tankards of ale. She wasn't sure what people found so fascinating about drinking. To her, it was simply a waste of time and there were other things to focus on. But then again maybe after a few long hard days of work she'd feel tempted to indulge herself in some ale too. "And he betrayed their trust I assume?" Lyra said.

Gary shook his head. "He was struck down with the illness, and his students soon followed. They were marched out of the city in a single line, their arms and legs bound together by chain, as they were taken to a cave where they would be sealed away and left to die." He paused, as if remembering the fallen then said, "Panic spread, and distrust towards mages started."

"Because they thought mages were spreading it," Ethan supplied.

A local walked up to the counter and placed their jug on the bench. Lyra could smell the cheap ale on his body and scrunched up her face. The man walked away all red in the face. "What happened next?" she said, turning back to Gary eager to learn more.

"No one knows," Gary replied with another shrug. "Nathaniel and Krahiya both left once the plague had spread to their own students. People say they too had succumbed and died far away from the walls. Others say they had killed themselves in a sealed tomb of magic to prevent people from robbing their graves. Mages were driven out. A few decades later Henry Blackthorn claimed the throne and tried to rebuild the alliance between us and the mages. He was later struck down with poison in his tea. His son, Edward Blackthorn claimed the throne at twelve years of age and declared all mages must die. This came to be known as the Time of Troubles," Gary explained, taking the jug away on the shelf behind the counter.

"Any person found practicing magic will be executed at dawn before the mob," Ethan interjected. "The king sends out groups of soldiers to scout the lands to make sure no mage threatens them."

Frowning, Lyra said, "But who poisoned the king? And how could anyone do that without anyone noticing?"

"All it takes is for someone to tamper with the food, and anyone could be poisoned," Gary said. He gestured to the people in the tavern. "It didn't cross anyone's mind food could be contaminated by magic as the plague wasn't passed through food, but through the air we breathe, and only mages were infected. This poisoning was in King Henry's drink. A servant who had decided the king was a fool he no longer wanted to serve."

Lyra glanced at the jug on the shelf. "We could be drinking poison then."

Gary chuckled. "No mage would be foolish enough to stay within the city walls., nor would anyone want to try and kill the king. King Edward is a good man – the finest king we've had in centuries. There will never be a balance between the rich and the poor, but the economy is strong, and we're well-defended. Taxes are low, and people are given a second chance."

"Unless they're guilty of witchcraft," Ethan pointed out.

Gary nodded. "Well, yeah, mages are dangerous. Once you are found guilty, that's it. You don't get a second chance."

"What's to stop someone from trying again?"

"That's why the city is so guarded," Gary replied, wiping down the counter with a cloth. "Food is checked every day and night for any signs of contamination. Castle servants are separated from the common servants you find walking around the streets. The royal family even have their own personal servants. I mean, it sounds like a lot of work, but this castle hasn't had a problem since these laws were put into place. Anyone suspected of suspicious behaviour will be taken away to be interrogated."

"Do you think many mages still exist?"

Gary nodded. "Of course. There'll always be a few around the area, but most are smart enough to keep their distance from the castle grounds. There population numbers were never great either, so it would take a few generations for there to be a big enough army to threaten the city. Even with all their power, mages are still mortal and easily struck down like any common man."

Ethan cleared his throat. "Well, this history tale was exciting and all, but we didn't come here to talk about magic. We aren't mages, there are no mages in this city, so we don't have anything to worry about. Let's just forget about this five-pointed star business. Lyra won't even need to think about magic when she's carrying out the royal family's orders."

"Right. The royal family," Gary said, leaning against the counter with a smirk on his face. "You'll probably end up as Clair's personal maid – I hear she's due to be getting married off soon. If she throws one of her tantrums, you can always come here to the tavern and have some ale to forget about it."

Lyra forced a smile. "Right."

"Well, I should return to work anyway."

"And I need to show Lyra around the city," Ethan said. Turning to Lyra he said, "Forget about this five-pointed star conversation – pretend it never even happened. They're just stories, that's all. We are safe here. Besides, if there was a threat, the king and his men would deal with it. Let's just focus on us now."

Gary said his goodbyes, shifting his attention to another customer.

"He seems okay," Lyra said.

Ethan rolled his eyes. He led her towards a table in the far corner and sat down. "He likes to talk. A lot. Come to the tavern if you want your head filled with nonsense. He's a tavern worker, remember? Gary's not someone you want to seek advice from nor would you expect any words of honesty from him. So, take my advice – don't try to investigate this five-pointed star business when you have some time off. It's probably just someone's idea of a lame joke." He stood up from his seat. "I'll get us something to eat and then we'll head on back home, so I can show you our daily tasks."

Before Lyra could respond, Ethan had already walked away.

With a sigh, Lyra glanced in Gary's direction again. He was busy serving customers now and didn't look to be available anytime soon. Ethan had said not to trust the words of a bartender, but Gary must've heard similar stories before. Drunk or not, every story was a clue. The moral of the story was trust no one. Peace didn't last forever. Her hometown had been an example of that. Perhaps if she excelled in her tasks, she would be sent to the castle early and from there she'd be able to learn more. Who better to learn about the mages than from the royal family themselves?


	6. Shades of Grey

Thanks to Booshes for giving this story a chance and dropping a review for the previous chapter!

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Chapter Five: Shades of Grey

Azalea Town was known for its pink flowers. They were in full bloom as spring had begun. People used the flowers to decorate their clothing, whilst others used the petals in their medicines. Morty wasn't sure if they worked, but apparently it helped the body heal faster. He hadn't tested the theory – he didn't need to. All he needed was the blood of others to heal.

Because of the flowers, the town was livelier than what was usual according to the locals. People had travelled from far across the region to come here to pick flowers. He wondered how many of them had died making such a dangerous journey all for some flowers. Again, he struggled to understand the normal folk. "Morty? Are you listening?" Eusine said.

They were sitting around a table at Kurt's place, a local lumberjack who was an expert at making furniture. He was supposedly the best in the business. Will was also present. He was a friend of Kurt's and was staying at the man's place. "I'm listening," Morty replied.

Will placed his elbows on the table, laying down his cigar. "There's a crypt down below. I've been down there briefly, but I've no talent when it comes to combat. Eusine tells me you're one of the best of the Order's men. You'd be doing this town a favour by resolving the issue down below," the man said, his arms folded. He picked up his cigar again.

Morty nodded., positioning himself away from the puff of smoke. "What benefit do I get out of helping you?"

"I can put in a good word to Naoko and her sisters. You helped me even though you didn't have to."

"Anything else?"

Will nodded, blowing out some smoke once more. "You want to fit in this world? You must blend in. Not draw any suspicion. You could be a local hero if you solve the issue. People have lost their families. If we want to win the favour of the people, we'll have to earn it. The god we worship? A god of resurrection and rebirth? I'm sure the Phoenix would smile down upon our good work."

Ho-Oh, the god of the sun. The light. They had to purify the lands of their corruption, and turn them back to magic, not away. The rightful god. Not this Blessed Divine the heathens believed in. "What else do you know about what we're dealing with?"

"I didn't venture that far," Will answered. "But I know people have been taken down into the well."

"And no one seems to notice?" Morty replied.

"People notice, but what can they do? This is a small town of lumberjacks and tradesmen. They can't fight. Someone will volunteer to investigate the well, but they never return. The best they can do is throw a stick at you."

"But you did investigate the well."

"I don't venture too deep. Other people seek glory and they allow this obsession for rewards control them. They make foolish moves to prove themselves worthy, but in the end their obsession gets them killed. I've seen it many times. But I know for you the rewards aren't physical – they're intrinsic. That is why I think you'll enjoy the challenge of fighting the unknown."

He hadn't met Will before, but the man knew him well. He'd have to ask Naoko about Will sometime, but the woman probably wouldn't say much. Every time Morty asked a question, the answer was always evasive. It's not any of your concern, Naoko would say. Still, the woman was kind to him. She treated him like a son. "Right. We will head to the well at once then. The sooner, the better." Morty stood up and walked to the door.

Eusine climbed to his feet. "Wait. We? You can't possibly mean me."

Morty glanced over his shoulder. "You're coming with me. You wanted my help did you not? You won't get it if you don't tag along." He opened the door and stepped outside, then glanced back over to make sure Eusine was following. He was but wore a reluctant expression.

Will followed them outside. "So, you are keen then?" he said.

Morty shook his head. "I'm doing this because I can."

"The town will be in your debt."

"I don't care about the people. None of them mean anything."

"Very well. Have it your way." Will gestured to the north. "The well is that way. You can't miss it. It has a red roof and there's a cobblestone path leading towards it. Best of luck to you both. I know you won't disappoint."

Eusine said his goodbyes and led the way towards the well. It was just a short walk away from the centre of town. There were several blueberry bushes nearby, but none of the fruits had turned ripe yet. "At least there's a rope. I hope it's steady," Eusine said, grabbing hold of the rope giving it a firm tug. As unstable as it looked, the rope held. "Well. You first."

"I trust there are torches down there."

"Yes. Near the entrance anyway. People haven't gotten any further than that."

Morty sighed and grabbed the hope. He hopped over the sides of the well and slowly slid down. His hands burned from the thick coarse rope, but otherwise he reached the bottom without issues.

Eusine's descent was less than smooth. The man released his grip halfway down and fell on the mud, landing on his backside.

"Perhaps you should've stayed behind…" Morty murmured.

The man clambered to his feet and made a face.

"Grab a torch."

"All right, all right." Eusine grabbed one of the torches off a brazier and held it forward.

Morty withdrew his sword and positioned himself at Eusine's right. Together, they walked away from the rope and towards the crypt entrance. There was no door, but he did notice strange symbols in various red shapes on the stones. He pressed a hand against one of the symbols. Magic had been used to engrave the letters. It still burned hot. "Can you feel it? The magic in the air?"

"Yes. I can sense it."

Morty gave Eusine a gentle nudge forward.

The man walked through the cavern entrance and held the torch high, gazing up at the ceiling.

There were zubats sleeping, their feet designed to stick to damp smooth surfaces. Completely blind, but they relied on their other senses to navigate and find food. Some of them stirred. Others remained fast asleep. Eusine shone on his torch on the zubats. "I hate zubats," he muttered.

"They're not going to hurt you."

"I know. They're just… ugly looking creatures. Probably carrying some odd disease."

"Keep moving."

Eusine lowered the torch and followed the single path deeper into the crypt. As they ventured deeper, the environment changed. The further they walked away from the well, the wilder it became. The walls were no longer covered in stone, but dirt only. There were holes in the walls made from the rattatas who lived down in the depths. Most likely they lived off dead zubats, worms and other insects.

"There's a bloody trail ahead," Eusine pointed out.

Morty followed his finger. There. Bloody humanoid footprints heading in a single direction – north. Eusine seemed hesitant to move, but Morty sauntered forward, venturing deeper into the crypt. "It's quite a barren place. I would've thought there'd be more signs of human activity down here," Morty said. Not a single piece of furniture. No weaponry. Nothing. Just odd symbols and humanoid footprints.

"Maybe whoever lives down here isn't quite human anymore. Those symbols were made with magic – you said it yourself. What if they turned into something else? Gone mad from years living down here? What do you think they eat? People? Rodents?" Eusine shuddered. "Ugh. Forget I said that."

"Whatever helps you survive."

"How would he even cook his food down here? It's not like there's anything here to use to start a fire and our magic isn't elemental. Probably not even human anymore. Can that even happen?"

Morty shrugged. "Magic was able to turn humans into wolves, so I suppose it's possible to become something else entirely. We use our magic to absorb the life of others to be reborn again. Anything is possible with magic. We just haven't explored every opportunity."

They followed the trail into a wide cavern. There was a stone altar in the centre of the room. Morty supposed it had been made by people long before. Atop the altar laid a naked woman. Her chest had been pulled open and the lungs removed. The ribs remained, and they stood erect. Strangely, there was no blood on her. The woman was clean and there wasn't even a drop on the altar.

"What in the hells…" Eusine muttered, bringing a hand to his mouth.

Morty approached the body. The eyes had also been removed. Plucked out by some utensil. He opened her mouth. The tongue had also been removed, but the teeth remained. How odd. "Some form of experimentation," Morty said slowly. He moved his eyes downwards towards the ribcage. "Whoever lives down here… He's toying with his subjects… or performing terrible surgeries. He… or she must've used magic to keep the victim down. There's no blood either. One of us." A mage gone rogue. A defect. Someone who had failed the trials and fled.

"…Pain… In so much pain…. Please…. Somebody…"

Morty turned his head towards the voice. It came from the next room. "Stay here," he said, looking at Eusine.

Eusine nodded. "I had no plans on moving anyway."

Morty took cautious steps, his sword drawn and ready, as he approached the adjoining cavern.

.

Agatha returned moments later carrying two golden goblets. She handed one to Karen and held out the other for Clair.

Clair grabbed it with both hands and placed it on her lap then peered down to examine the contents. The liquid was red. Almost as red as the colour of blood. How enticing. She even noticed a few suspicious chunky pieces. Screwing up her face in disgust, she glanced up, her dark eyes fixated on Agatha's face. "What exactly am I about to be drinking?"

The old crone folded her arms and said, "It's a mixture of ingredients. The blood of an adult rat, two stems of betony, one spoon of honey and a quarter of a baby lamb's brain all mixed in with water. I'm certain you can tell which part the brains are. I made the parts small enough to swallow whole. You do not want to chew."

Her stomach muscles tightened. Fortunately, she managed to prevent herself from gagging. Perhaps asking had been a bad idea after all. The liquid itself tasted thick and sweet. _Gross,_ she thought. Much to her satisfaction, Karen looked repulsed.

Even her face was pale, and she looked ready to lurch forwards and expel the contents of her stomach onto the ground. Somehow, she managed to keep it together. How disappointing.

"Good. Now you'll feel a strange burning sensation overcome you. Do not panic."

Clair didn't feel it at first, but then she felt her skin crawl. It was an odd sensation. It was like having an itch you couldn't scratch that only worsened as time passed on. She fidgeted in her chair as she felt her temperature rise. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead. It was like standing near a hot fireplace and the flames were coming closer. She cast her gaze down at her arms, wondering if she'd see herself change, but nothing. Her arms remained the same. Had the spell even worked? What if they had just been poisoned?

Turning her head to the left, she looked at Karen, hoping she was wrong. She expected to see Karen staring back at her, but instead she saw the face of a young adult male looking back at her. His hair was silver and fell just short of his shoulders, and his eyes as dark as night. He even had the faint beginnings of a beard forming on his chin.

"I always wondered what a male counterpart of you would like. Now I have my answer," Clair said. To her own ears, she still sounded like herself, but judging by the look of amusement of Karen's face, she was hearing a much different voice.

"Oh wow, I wish I could have a painting of this done," Karen said with a grin.

Clair snorted. "It would never be good enough."

"Right."

Pause, then, "What do we call ourselves? We'll need names."

Karen looked up. When she was in deep thought, she always tended to look to the sky, as if she would find answers there.

The woman claimed it help, but Clair had tried looking up for answers, but found only silence. The clerics claimed Arceus only answered the prayers of the faithful. Which was strange to Clair. Her cousin wasn't a believer, and many claimed he was blessed by Arceus. The Blessed Hands, the clerics of The Divine led by Koga, were identified by the golden necklace around their necks. Every necklace had a red and white cross attached to it.

"What about… Henry and Neville?"

"Very common names."

"We are common folk remember?"

Karen sighed. "I suppose so."

Agatha brought her palms together, drawing their attention. "Remember. Your time is temporary. When the spell begins to wear off, your disguises will start to fade. Keep an eye out for each other and to leave the area as soon as you notice the changes. Your eye colour will be the first to change. That should be your first warning sign to retreat immediately otherwise you'll find yourselves in a difficult situation. Am I clear?"

"Of course."

Agatha retrieved the now empty vials. "Godspeed. Off you go now." She made a shooing motion with her hands.

Karen and Clair exchanged glances and climbed to their feet. Karen thanked Agatha then headed towards the door, leading herself out.

Before Clair could follow her footsteps, Agatha reached out and grabbed her arm, her fingernails digging into Clair's skin.

"Get your hands off me," Clair said, trying to pry the old woman's hands off. Surprisingly, her grip was quite firm.

"You are living a lie," Agatha said, in a low hushed tone. "How well do you know your grandfather, the man you call king?"

Her grip remained firm. "He's my family. Of course, I know him well."

"He keeps secrets from you. He says it is to protect you, but that is a lie. You're a smart woman; why do you continue to live under his rule? He will send you off to another man's castle for the sake of financial gain. He cares little for your well-being and your cousin is a blind obedient fool." Agatha released her grip on her arm, moving both hands to Clair's shoulders instead. Staring directly into her eyes, she added, "The king is a liar."

At last, the woman released her grip. Clair recoiled, as if she had been slapped in the face. "I should report you to the authorities. You will be hanged before the mob for your words against my grandfather."

"I'll be long gone before you find me again." The woman took a step back. "I only speak in truth, Clair. Magic was forbidden in this kingdom because your grandfather feared it would lead to his downfall. He still fears it today as he knows what magic is capable of as he experienced it firsthand with the death of his father. Do you even know why the mages left?"

Clair raised an eyebrow. Unlike the others, she did not shy away from the subject of magic. "Because grandfather made them leave. He said their magic was dangerous and all mages could not be trusted. He did it for the best of the kingdom."

The woman chuckled. "Yet it was magic that gave him the right to rule."

Clair narrowed her eyes. "Why should I even believe you?"

Agatha's smile disappeared. "Magic doesn't lie. If you continue down this current path and believe in their lies, you won't have a future. You can choose to follow the men blindly or you can create your own destiny." She then gestured towards the door. "You can leave now. Just remember you have been warned."

Unsettled, Clair turned her attention away from the woman and retreated.

Karen was waiting for her outside. "Well. You took your time. Did she say something?"

Clair shook her head. "No, nothing important. Let's just leave already."

Karen didn't say another word and just shrugged.

Clair stayed behind her, lost in her own thoughts. Agatha had implied her grandfather was the reason why the mages had left. But wasn't that obvious? His law had forced them away. Perhaps her grandfather had done something to personally offend the hag and now Agatha held a grudge towards him. Yes. That was probably it. Nothing to be concerned about at all. Forcing the thoughts aside, she followed Karen through the crowded city streets towards the tavern.

.

Lance headed down to the chambers below the throne room where he knew he would find Samuel. The man rarely stepped outside his room, let alone the castle walls itself. It was almost as if Edward didn't want Samuel being seen outside the castle, but Lance wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if the man had done anything to be ashamed of. Perhaps his grandfather just wanted the man's services for himself.

He arrived at the door and knocked several times until he received an answer. Moments later, the door opened.

Samuel greeted him with a brief smile and stepped aside to allow Lance through. Once he was inside, he quickly closed the door then turned to face him. "The king has already informed me about your journey to Mahogany Town and I've made the necessary preparations for you, so you'll be well supplied."

The room the man worked in was small and messy. It was almost as if a wild storm had struck this room alone. There were papers on the floor, books spread across the table with some open and others closed, and there was even a spilt bottle of ink on the floor. Hanging on the eastern wall was a sketch of a man and a wolf. There were various scribbles on the paper, but it was in small print, and he couldn't decipher words unless he was up close and personal.

"Right," Lance said, his eyes still fixed on the man and the wolf. "New research?"

Samuel followed his gaze then nodded. "I've been working on something new that I believe will help us combat the wolves more effectively should they become a problem. You won't even have to deal a killing blow – this poison will shut down the immune system of the wolf and it will die slowly."

"Seems a bit cruel don't you think?" Lance replied, shifting his gaze away. He turned back to the table and took note of the text on some of the open books. There were images of plants and various descriptions on what they looked like and how they grew. "At least with a blade it's quick."

"And leaves too much of a mess behind." He walked over to the western wall to another table. This one had multiple pots of different sizes all lined up against the wall. Samuel grabbed one of the pots and placed his right hand inside then pulled it out, holding a small blue-purple flower. He held it out towards Lance. "This is what I call wolfsbane. We know it works on normal wolves – there have been tests in other regions. They applied special sauce to a rotting deer corpse. The wolves seemed okay at first, but the scouts discovered their corpses later the following morning."

"And you think it will work on the werewolves?"

Samuel nodded. "I believe it will. It has quite a sweet smell."

Lance leaned forward to smell the flower but pulled back immediately when he felt his eyes start to water. Suspecting a sneeze would soon follow, he took a step back and kept his gaze on the petals.

Samuel 's eyebrows arched up. "I did not realize you were allergic."

"I've never been allergic to any herb before."

The old man shrugged. "Sometimes you can go your entire life without finding a weakness. Speaking of ailments and illnesses, how have you been feeling recently? Your grandfather wants to know whether the dosage should be increased or if you are stable."

Every month for at least four days he'd come down with a terrible headache that would keep him in bed if not for Samuel's medicine. He would be overcome with muscle aches and pains all over his body. The medicine he drank didn't make the pain go away – it would only lessen it so it was manageable, but overtime his body became accustomed to it, and the dosage would need to be readjusted every couple of months. His grandfather called it moon sickness, but when Lance had asked the other soldiers if they suffered it too, none of them had heard of it. It seemed to be something unique to him. A side effect of being Arceus's chosen?

"Do you know why this happens?"

Samuel turned back to his table and pulled out a drawer. He searched through and grabbed a pouch made of animal hide and handed it to Lance. "This will last you until you return. And to answer your question, no, I don't know why. We all have a weakness, Lance. We're all susceptible to some illness and yours just happens to be this moon sickness."

Lance took the pouch. "Moon sickness. No one else seems to have it."

Samuel ignored him. "This is a little stronger than usual because you're going away. I won't be able to treat you, so I took extra precautions and gave you more."

"Thanks."

"You don't need to thank me. Keeping you in good health is my job."

"I'll see you when I return."

"And I should have the wolfsbane completed for you to test again. Take care."

Lance nodded. Nothing else was needed to be said. Without saying another word, he turned around and saw himself out.

.

Leaning against a wall, was a man in chains, his chest bare. "It's inside me… Please… Get it out!" he pleaded, turning his dark eyes in Morty's direction, his eyes full of pain. Tears rolled down his dirty cheeks. "Get it out! Get it out!" He thrashed against his chains, trying to break free, but his movements were in vain.

Morty kneeled before him, then reached a hand down for his dagger. A hunting knife used for carving small animals like rabbits. He looked into the man's eyes then placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. There were stitches on the man's stomach already. Someone had opened him up and placed something inside. "This is going to hurt," Morty remarked, as he made a deep incision into the flesh. Blood seeped out of the wound.

"Oh… That is…" Eusine gagged.

"There was a reason why you never passed the trials," Morty replied, his gaze focused on the whimpering man before him. "Your mind was weak, Eusine. You couldn't be strong when you needed to be." Morty made the cut wider then parted back the folds. The man screamed. At first, nothing happened, then a furry purple snout poked through the opening. A rattata. Surprised, he pulled back. The rattata pushed itself through the stomach and climbed out. It dropped on the floor and scurried away.

"What is going on here?" Eusine said.

Morty thrust his blade into the man's heart silencing his cries. He didn't bother sacrificing this man. The man had already been defiled. Besides, he'd be stuck down in the well when the resurrection happened. "A human experiment." He climbed to his feet just as an arrow flew by his head. An intentional miss? Or just poor aim? He turned to the shadows.

"…Intruders… intruders. In my own home. I can smell your fear. Hear your heart beating. Feel the blood pumping." A thin high-pitched voice. A woman. She emerged from the shadows, her back slouched. Her hair was white, thin and uncombed, and her skin all wrinkled and yellow. She carried a twisted staff in her left hand to support her weight. Each step was slow. "You invade my home. You attack my patients. They are being saved."

"Saved?" Morty repeated, cautious.

She closed the distance. "Yes. Saved. These people are filthy. They're sinners. I am purifying them of their sins and turning them to our God as required. They will rise from the ashes like a phoenix." Her brows furrowed. "But you come here and defile my home."

As she drew closer, Morty was able to take notice of the finer details. There were strange bumps and lesions on her arms and face. Her eyes were red, and her lips a pale blue colour. Diseased. Probably from living off a poor diet. He maintained a healthy distance. "You were one of us once."

"And when I die, I will rise again from the ashes."

Morty's tightened his jaw. "These people aren't going anywhere. Even if they were brought back from the dead, they're not getting out of here. You're not serving anyone. This is not what we do. We don't experiment on the dead." He kept his distance, uncertain. She might've looked weak and frail, but she was still a mage.

She slammed her staff on the ground. "I serve God."

"You are not part of the Brotherhood. We do not defile the dead."

That seemed to anger her. Her mouth twisted into a sneer. "I serve God," she repeated.

"And He doesn't need you. That's why you're down here rotting away."

"I am purifying these people."

Morty spat at the ground. "No, you're not. You're maiming these bodies. When these people rise again after the resurrection, do you think they'll be useful in a n battle with one arm?" The woman was clearly mad. Whatever disease she had gained had rattled her brain, or whatever remained of it. "Do you think the dead can be of any use down here? They're not even marked appropriately. They won't be coming back when the spell is cast," Morty explained.

"I'm helping these people. I'm saving them."

"By taking out their lungs and placing rodents inside their stomachs?"

"They were suffering. I am freeing them of their pain."

"By prolonging their deaths," Morty replied, still maintaining a distance. He didn't want any part of her to touch him. What if the disease was contagious? Blood healed wounds, but it didn't cure a necromancer of a disease. "You're disgracing our God with these pitiful offerings. That won't be tolerated."

She slammed the staff on the ground again. "Your presence won't be tolerated!" she shrieked. There was a maddened gleam in her dark eyes.

Morty approached her now, his left hand curled into a fist. She didn't back away. He closed the distance between them. The woman attacked first, swinging her staff. Morty met her weapon with his own and blocked the attacked. She had spirit, but her body was weak.

"I am his devout follower! I will offer you as a grand sacrifice!" She swung her staff again.

This time, he stepped back and thrust his left hand forward, curling his fingers into a fist. Blood lifted from the ground and merged into a rope. He swung it like a whip. Although it was made of liquid, it maintained its form, held together by the dark magic. The blood rope wrapped around her staff and pulled it free from her hands. Morty waved his hand. The rope flung the staff away. It flew into a wall and splintered into pieces. "I really was expecting more of a fight, but you're not even whole."

She bared her teeth. They were yellow. Some of her front teeth were badly chipped. The woman charged and flung herself at him tackling him to the ground. She tried to bite him, gnashing at his skin, like a wild animal, her hot breath washing over his face.

Up this close, he was able to see parts of her skin starting to peel away from her face. With his free hand, he punched her in the side of the face. It was enough to allow him to roll away until she grabbed his leg. He turned around and kicked in the face, his foot colliding with her nose. Blood spilled out.

"This is not how we serve."

She fell back, then climbed to her feet. Uttering harsh grunts, she charged again, her arms flailing wildly, saliva flying in all directions. It was as if she was becoming half-beast herself.

He caught both arms then kneed her in the stomach. She lurched forward. Again, he kicked her, this time in the face. One of her teeth fell out.

"I will not let you succeed!" she hissed.

Is this what happened to everyone who was sent away? Did they become mad too? Perhaps an immediate death would be a better option. Better to be dead and die with your mind intact than die not even knowing what you are. "Was it Naoko who oversaw your trials?"

Her face darkened. She seemed to recognize the name. "The dark mistress." She spat at the ground. "I want to rip out her heart and take a bite out of it! Wrap my hands around her neck and choke the life from her." It wouldn't be the first time Naoko had crushed someone's hope of becoming part of the Order of Ash. "I was her favourite. Fantina, she said. You are chosen. But I was abandoned. She left me, and she will leave you too. Abandon you. Turn against you. You are disposable."

"No, she won't."

She snorted. "You believe her lies. I did. Look at where I ended up. Fall from grace. I was beautiful once. Powerful. Now I'm here. I travelled the ocean to serve but I only arrived to fall."

"Your faith was not strong enough."

"Oh, my faith is strong. It is you whose faith is weak. You do not believe in the one true God. You believe in only a monster. Naoko will send you away to dispose of you. To replace you."

Morty shook his head, his sword's tip still pointed at her. "I will not be replaced."

She threw her head back and cackled. "You do not serve The Blessed Divine."

Morty lifted a brow. Arceus? "You turned to Arceus? You really are weak. Hasn't done you much good, has it. You turn away from one god and turn to another, yet you find yourself down here. Look at you. A wreck. You're dying of disease. Arceus isn't going to save you." He glanced over at the man then turned back to Fantina. "All these sacrifices… Don't mean anything. Arceus doesn't love you."

"He's the true God. The Divine. The Blessed Creator. After death, we ascend into a paradise. I am saving these people. They are going to a better place," Fantina reasoned, her tone sincere.

The mad woman genuinely believed in her words. "You're a fool," he remarked.

"You stumble in the dark. The light is ahead. But you can't reach it. Not yet. But you will. You'll see. I saw."

"I'm not you." Tired of her words, he thrust the blade squarely between her ribs, pushing the steel through to the other side.

She gasped, and raised her hands, placing them on the sword. She tried to yank it free, but already weakness was affecting her. It wasn't much of a challenge. Even a farmer would put up a better fight. "…You… will… see…" she rasped.

"I had hoped for a challenge, but I shouldn't be surprised from someone who failed an easy set of trials. You should be glad. You'll be reunited with your God that you profess to love so much." He withdrew his sword. She fell forward and landed face first, gasping and wheezing. Dropping down to his knees, he cupped her chin and looked at her.

"…Arceus… damn you," she rasped. "You will see the truth."

"I already know the truth., but you choose to be blind. Arceus doesn't care about you." He pulled his hand away and climbed to his feet. Fantina dropped to the ground, blood spilling out of the open wound. "And this is the fate that awaits those who displease the Phoenix. Traitors be damned." He turned his back and walked away from the woman, not stopping once to glance back. The fool had betrayed them. Turned away from the light. Turned to the Divine. Fantina deserved this fate. She had become blind.

"It's done them," Eusine said, his face pale.

Morty nodded, putting his sword back. "It's done. I'll continue to Blackthorn."

Traitors be damned.

.

It was like entering another world. The castle life was bland and strict, but here in the tavern, it seemed people had forgotten they were just servants of her grandfather. There were no rules here – you could drink, and no one could tell you when to stop; you could eat as much as you wanted if you could afford it. You could even talk about any topic freely without having to worry what someone else might think. Karen labelled it tavern talk; gossip and vulgar language, all of which was considered unladylike by her grandfather.

Clair scanned her surroundings, keeping her eyes peeled for anyone that might look interesting. She saw a group of soldiers seated around one of the tables to the south-western corner. One of them she recognized as Bruno. She had traded words with him on multiple occasions and not even one left her feeling positive towards him. He seemed to think she fancied him when it was the exact opposite; she couldn't even stand the sight of him, but Lance seemed to think highly of the man for whatever reason.

"Try not to talk to any of the commonfolk. You know the peasants and the like. They might try to touch you and who knows where their hands have been. I wouldn't want you to come down with anything nasty because your grandfather will know we've been here. Don't even make eye contact with them. Think of them as rodents," Karen explained as she looked around the room before resting her attention on the man behind the counter. "Now he's someone worth talking to. That's Gary Oak, Samuel's grandson."

She had heard the name before. Samuel often talked about his grandson and how he wished the boy would come and visit him in the castle, but Gary never came. Samuel had described him as a cunning boy but lacked ambition. She looked at him now. He was busy wiping down the surface of the counter.

"I didn't expect him to be so…"

"Good-looking? Yeah."

Clair had never found any of the local men attractive. Some were too thin, some were too wide, some were too short, and some were too tall, but Gary checked all the right boxes. Tall, but not too tall. He was neither fat nor thin and he seemed to pay attention to his appearance unlike some of the other peasants in the kingdom. From all the commoners she had crossed paths with, each one of them seemed to have some physical issue whether it be suspicious bumps on their faces, weight issues, skin conditions and other similar problems, but that wasn't the case with Gary. But there had to be something wrong. How could a grandson of Samuel Oak work in a place like this?

"I heard he chose to work here. He could've followed in his grandfather's footsteps, but for some reason, found working in a tavern more appealing," Karen explained.

"I don't think we should be staring at him. I mean, we're not us… Not to anyone else. Don't you think he'd find a bit strange if he noticed two males looking at him with fascination? He might think we are creeps." He hadn't seemed to notice them yet. He was too busy with his duties to even look their way once. That was probably for the best. It was a strange sensation that filled her. It wasn't something that she had felt before. Was it what Karen referred to as attraction? No. It couldn't be.

Karen nodded. "Fair point. We should probably take a seat somewhere. Just standing here and looking clueless will only draw attention." She headed towards one of the spare tables to the south west and sat down. Clair sat opposite to her. "So. What do you think? First time at the tavern."

"It's okay. I wish I had longer to enjoy it all, but we can't everything." She understood why her grandfather didn't want her present. It was the place of the peasants, the common folk. She wondered how many of them had resorted to vulgar acts of prostitution to obtain coin. Probably more than what seemed. "Come to think of it, maybe we shouldn't eat anything here. It could make us sick."

Karen laughed. "The food here is fine. I've been here several times with the soldiers."

Raising an eyebrow, Clair said, "What? You spent time with them? How did you manage to do that? Women aren't allowed in the barracks. Did you sneak in at night without the guards noticing?"

"No, silly, the arena. You know the fighting pits where the men train against each other?"

Clair frowned. "No?"

Karen sighed. "You really don't know much about the kingdom you live in, do you? You're so sheltered. Yeah. The arena. That's where you meet the soldiers after their training sessions and of course, after some gruelling hours of training, all a man wants is a woman to keep his bedroll warm."

"Aren't the soldiers forbidden from doing that?"

"Oh please, not all the soldiers are like Lance, Clair. Besides, Lance is part of the Holy Order of Knights, the King's elite men. They must be chaste to even join and believe me, you can tell. Anyone who wants to join the Holy Order has to be circumcised."

"Even if they're not pure?"

Karen nodded. "The knights are chaste, but the soldiers are not. A shame about the knights, really. Especially Lance. Such potential wasted. You think it's ever crossed his mind?"

Clair stiffened. It always made her uneasy listening to other women talk about her cousin. Some women lamented his celibate life whilst others mocked him behind his back. Of course, mocking her cousin wasn't classified as a crime so there was nothing she could do but allow them to make their snide remarks. "He knows what he's sacrificed Karen, and that doesn't disappoint him. As he says, he's willing to make whatever sacrifice is necessary if it will benefit the kingdom."

"Right… But how does being a celibate knight benefit anyone?"

She struggled to think of a response. It had something to do with her grandfather wanting the Holy Order of Knights to be a sign of prestige and it obtain that certain sacrifices had to be made to be inducted. Only upon retirement could a knight think about family. "…It's not about benefiting anyone, Karen. It's about putting his duty to the kingdom first."

"He could make so many women proud… Now we must wait until he's an old man. Where's the fun in that?"

Clair glared. "Don't talk about my cousin like that."

Karen raised her hands. "Fine, fine. Anyway. We should get a drink. No point in coming to the tavern if you don't get a drink." She headed over to the counter and Clair followed.

A chance to talk to Gary Oak. Not as her usual self but at least she'd get to hear him speak. Clair had never tasted alcohol before – it wasn't allowed in the castle as her grandfather thought it was unladylike for women to indulge in such things. She remained silent as Karen took the lead and placed an order.

"Two of your strongest wines please," Karen said.

"Strongest?" Clair repeated.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure you can handle it?" Gary said.

Karen nodded. "Of course. We can handle whatever the men can."

He raised an eyebrow. "…Considering you are both men, I'd hope so."

"Real men, Gary. The soldiers. Not the peasantry."

Knowing Karen expected her to pay Clair placed a pouch of six gold coins on the counter. "That should cover it all."

Gary took the pouch, opened it and peered inside. The expression on his face said it all – a mixture of bemusement and surprise – were enough to tell her she had given him far too much. "It's just some alcohol, you know. I guess you lads don't come here very often… Or you've never drunk before." He looked up again and grinned. "Two of our strongest wines it is then," he added then headed over to the barrels to fill up the goblets.

Karen caught Clair's eye. "It's really not that strong. You'll be fine."

That didn't sound convincing. Clair couldn't disagree; they had already paid good coin for the drinks and she certainly wasn't going to appear weak in front of her best friend and Samuel's grandson. She was a princess! Not some coward! Gary returned moments later with the drinks. Clair grabbed hers and looked down at the amber coloured liquid. "What's it made of?"

"Grain, water and fermented with yeast. Nothing overly complex. Pretty simplistic really. I won't tell you the exact measurements because I don't want to go out of business, but I think you'll like it. Everyone does."

Clair took a sip. It was warm and sweet in flavour. A little too sweet for her liking. She put it down again and looked up. "People like this?"

"It helps them relax… You look a little stressed. I know it's not my business to ask, but I take it you have a lot on your mind?" Karen cleared her throat, but Gary ignored her. Even disguised as men, Clair was receiving more attention than her.

"I guess you could that." Her grandfather still intended for the arranged marriage to go ahead. Prince Benga would be arriving in a few short days to meet with her in person before the official ceremony. "Why did you choose to work at a tavern?"

Gary shrugged. "I get asked that a lot. My grandfather works in the castle, but that's not the life for me. Can you imagine anything worse than being stuck within those walls all day long? I've heard castle life is a bit bland, and that wouldn't suit someone like me. I like being with people; having a few laughs with the commonfolk. We're not free people but within the walls of this tavern? It certainly feels like it."

"Yeah, I understand." _More than you think_, she noted. Castle life was dull. There was only so much fun you could gain out of bullying the slaves before it became old; not surprisingly, this was another activity her grandfather wasn't fond of. Her thoughts were interrupted by a nudge in the ribs from Karen. Had time already flown by that quickly? It had only seemed like they had just arrived.

"Well, as much as I enjoyed the conversation with you, I really should be focusing on work."

"Oh of course."

Clair took another sip of her drink.

"But before you go… What do you think?" He gestured at the drink in her hands.

It wasn't something she was keen on drinking again. It was too sweet and the liquid itself felt creamy. How could anyone find enjoyment from this? But rather than express her distaste, she just smiled. "It's good." She glanced over at Karen who had already consumed hers fully. Clair forced herself to drink the remainder of her ale fighting off the urge to expel the contents from her stomach. She was not going to show weakness.

"Perhaps you'll be back in the future for more."

Clair forced a smile. "Of course. How could I not want to return?"

He grinned then shifted his attention away from her to some other customers. Clair watched him for a few moments. Would he speak to her if she was her usual self or would she have to return in a disguise to have a casual conversation? He didn't like the rules of the castle and he probably didn't have a high opinion of the royal family either though he would not say that aloud or risk being deemed a traitor. Nevertheless, she planned to return in the future and learn more about him. Perhaps Samuel would share his thoughts if she asked.

Her plans would have to wait – time was running out and Karen was growing impatient and probably jealous. She stood up from her seat and headed towards the door, not stopping once to check if Karen was following. The tavern was exciting; she knew she'd have to come back on her own at some point if only to get away from the castle life for a while, but would Agatha still be here? Maybe she could convince Gary to leave the tavern and come to her instead on order of the king. She smiled at the thought. Lance would call it an abuse of power, but she didn't care what he thought. She deserved some fun too. Without bothering to wait for Karen, Clair headed to the private baths where she could lose her disguise without being spotted.


End file.
